You Never Gave Me a Reason
by littlequeenofthestage
Summary: Following the Graysons' remarriage and their near-death experience with Kara Clarke, Conrad realizes how much he still cares about Victoria. He wants to turn their relationship around, but Victoria can be a difficult woman to love - and to convince her of this love is nearly impossible.
1. Breakfast

**You Never Gave Me a** **Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**1) Breakfast in Bed and Bad Publicity  
**

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Something was terribly wrong.

When Victoria fell into bed the night before, things seemed to be truly turning up. Kara had just left town forever the day before, and with her went a layer of anxiety Victoria hadn't recognized in herself. She and Conrad had actually lived through the near-death experience that Kara had put them through, and now that she was out of their lives forever, their chances of death were that much slimmer. With the loose ends mostly tied up, it was easier to fall asleep lately.

The next morning, woken by the fresh Saturday sunlight that poured through the windows, the peace from the night before resurfaced and she sighed contentedly. She breathed in the crisp air, stretching and turning over in the silk sheets that slinked around her skin and wrapped her in warmth, true relaxation filling her lungs - this escaped and left her breathless when her wandering eyes found something horrifying.

On the bedside table, a silver tray was filled to its edges with a large plate and two smaller, upon which sat a stack of French toast and mixed berries; aside which lay eggs over-easy and a ring of sausages; opposite which was placed a raisin bagel and, strangely, a peach. Victoria, being a great lover of stone fruit, knew that peaches were no longer in season at this time of year; yet when she later bit into the fruit, it was ripe and juicy, as if it had been harvested fresh out of spring. No maid could have managed that.

Cautiously, she sat up straight and took the tray in her hands, examining its contents. She was almost afraid to touch it, wondering in paranoia if this was some attempt on her life. Who, besides an enemy, would have brought her breakfast in bed? Her children were neither living with her nor on extraordinary terms with her; the cook rarely ventured from the kitchen, and certainly not on weekends; and every man with which she'd ever had an affair was either dead or keeping his distance, meaning she was likely in for no unexpected visitors. The only person left to consideration was her _husband_, and this being _his_ gesture was even less likely than it being one of her children's ideas. Both options seemed impossible, and neither would occur without an agenda lurking behind. She wasn't going to eat this until she knew why it was here.

But just as she was about to get out of bed and send it back into the kitchen, Victoria spotted left on the table a folded white paper. Raising a curious eyebrow, she reached out and picked up the note, unfolding it to find neatly handwritten: _Breakfast Fit for a Queen._

Victoria swallowed. _Conrad._

Sighing, she pushed the tray lower on her lap and pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to regain the relaxation she had entertained moments ago. Conrad had been so stressful to her lately; since their run-in with Amanda's mother, he seemed bent on confusing her with all these... these kind gestures. Firstly apologizing - though God knew for which of his sins he was sorry - and holding her hand in their thought-to-be last moments, then being strangely gentle with her ever since, kissing her forehead or her cheek and engaging in small contact when she least expected such. This was the only thing to disturb her peace as of late, filling her mind with the troubling question of just _what_ his agenda was. He was never at all caring nowadays, or even interested in her...

Yet he continued to pursue her through these small graces, from a pat on the shoulder to the breakfast before her. She had expected this game to reach its end after her brush-off last night, when he'd come home early with fear in his eyes.

_"Victoria?"_

_Conrad rushed through the house, room to room, shouting her name all the while. He soon found her in the study, standing in front of the desk. "What happened?"_

_She swallowed, looking into his eyes. His terrified, worried stare instantly stole from her the lie she had fabricated to answer his question. He blinked at her, expecting an answer, but she had none._

_Confused, he stepped into the room, examining her lost expression. "You called me," he reminded her, reaching out for her hand. "You said you needed me. What is it?"_

_He was correct. She had called, and that was all she had said._ **_"Conrad, can you come home? I - I need help."_** _And he was right on time, which would have been beneficial if she had actually needed him. Without time to come up with a reason for calling, she stood there, stupidly silent, and shook her head._

_"No," she argued lamely. "No, I didn't do that."_

_He raised his eyebrows and further extended his hand. "Are you all right, Victoria?"_

_Attempting to come back to her senses, she pushed his hand away calmly and stepped around him. "I'm perfectly fine, Conrad," she lied, a smile on her face. "You shouldn't worry so much."_

The memory still served to make her blush in embarrassment. She was such a _child_. Why had she even called him? She didn't need anything - least of all, _him_ - nor did she particularly enjoy his presence, so what had possessed her to make up a story that would bring him home? Victoria had decided that it was Post-Traumatic Stress, but then, she had been through many traumas before. Why was this small incident so troubling?

Perhaps it was because she had been staring in the crazed eyes of a victim of her lies. Perhaps because she had been so close to losing her life that she had actually begun her final prayers. Perhaps because Conrad had been there beside her with the intent of taking all the blame and setting her free. Perhaps, God forbid, she had been frightened because she nearly lost him.

This random behavior should have been enough to scare him away. He usually left her to face her own demons, but now...

She ran her finger over the letters. _Breakfast Fit for a Queen._

"Queen Victoria," he'd called her in the earliest days of their marriage. "My lovely queen." How long ago that seemed to be. Quite distant and unattainable were those days, when Conrad loved her.

Hunger was a consequence of reminiscence, and she attempted to appease such with the meal she'd been given. It didn't satisfy the longing she felt inside, but it did distract her from the terror that came with the thought of someone actually _caring_ about her.

_Thank God, Conrad doesn't love me,_ she thought as the steam of coffee hit her face. _It would only be another problem to handle in this house._

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That evening, Victoria had come home with a grimace painted on her face, thanks to her impossible daughter. Her visit with Charlotte Grayson had resulted in a headache and the name "Declan" echoing relentlessly in her daughter's injured voice. _"Declan_ _and I are going to dinner that day." "I don't think_ _Declan_ _would feel welcome_ **_there_**_." "What do you have against_ _Declan?"_ Victoria felt her temples pulsating. She loved Charlotte, but for God's sake, it would be nice to have a conversation without hearing the name of her daughter's boyfriend more often than the common article adjective.

The instant she stepped into the house, Victoria breathed a sigh of slight relief as she felt her body transition from utter frustration to a slightly-less trying environment. She threw the door shut and jerked one of her high heels off, feeling every knot in her sore shoulders become defined while she bent over. Balancing herself on the wall, she pulled off the other shoe and tossed it aside. Then, barefoot and stomach growling, she headed for the kitchen. She hadn't expected to be summoned.

"Victoria?"

She stepped over to the kitchen counter in search of something to eat - she had barely stopped arguing with her daughter that day, so she was hardly able to indulge in a meal before leaving the table with a fake smile plastered on her face - and glanced over her shoulder. "Yes?" she called in reply as she picked an apple from the fruit bowl. After a thorough examination, she rinsed it off in the sink and turned to the living room.

"You're on the news."

Raising an eyebrow, Victoria cautiously exited the kitchen and found his voice in the living room. Conrad sat on the couch, staring up at the television. The newscaster was practically screaming at the camera with another of the countless "scandals"; this particular one involving her feigned kidnapping. Victoria rolled her eyes. "We can't _possibly_ still be on this."

"The press is infatuated with you," he reminded her, leaning so that she had room to sit down. Watching him, she carefully sat down at the other end of the couch and bit into the apple. "They expected much more... trauma."

She snorted. "I've been playing up in front of the camera for weeks already. I'm ready to return to the world of the living."

Conrad chuckled, resting his arm on the back of the couch and nearly around her shoulders. "Well, they weren't quite so prepared for you to rise from the dead overnight."

"They wanted me to be dead," Victoria muttered, tentatively leaning back and allowing her back to touch his arm. "The world, the Initiative, and even my own son - so happy to say 'goodbye.' Of course, my miraculous return has royally pissed them off."

Her husband didn't reply, but glanced at her sideways. She raised her eyebrows at him. "What?"

He didn't seem eager to respond, at first, but he did speak up, though without any eye contact. "Don't be so sure you weren't missed. When we heard your plane crashed, we-"

Victoria looked up quickly, and he corrected himself. "Daniel and Charlotte were crushed, thinking they'd lost their mother." Glancing up at her, he added, "No one was pleased at the death of Victoria Grayson. None of us, at least."

She was somewhat relieved to hear this from someone other than herself. Ever since her return, seeing Daniel shrug her off and Conrad hardly entertain more than a few instances of sarcasm-impersonating-concern, she had begun to question just how much love her family held for her. Knowing that she loved _them_ so much - Conrad notwithstanding - it hurt her to some degree to think that they did not return the sentiment. She almost wished she had stayed "dead."

"What happened last night?" Conrad's voice penetrated her low thoughts. Victoria leaned back and looked at him again - she stiffened at the feeling of his arm against her back, but she neither jumped from her seat nor settled into his reach. Instead, she turned back to the television absentmindedly.

"What happened this morning?"

She referred to the mysterious breakfast, of course. Reaching checkmate, he didn't ask any more questions; retracted his arm and stood, muttering something about needing a drink as he exited the room. A small part of her didn't want him to go... but this was a very small part. It wasn't nearly significant enough of a feeling to stand and call him back into the room.

Still, it was there, and that bothered her. So she didn't think about it.

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_As a note: This story is set (and was written) sometime between mid-season 2 and mid-season 3, so at this point, the Graysons are still married, Patrick is about to come into the picture, and other newer characters have yet to emerge._

_Thanks for reading, by the way :) I hope you'll follow/leave a review to let me know what you think._


	2. Interview

**You Never Gave Me a Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**2) Ill-Prepared Interview and the "Image"**

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"Really, Conrad. _Must_ we do this?"

Her husband nodded to her - she saw in the reflection of the mirror - as a woman simultaneously spoke into her headset and powdered his face. Victoria scowled at the way her hands lingered; as if he needed temptation when he was already jumping into the arms of every eligible woman in a five-mile radius! She was tempted to say something, but she didn't. It wasn't as if she didn't already feel unwelcome on the set of _another_ godforsaken morning talk show.

"It's good for our image, so _yes,_ we must do this," he replied smartly, glancing her way pointedly. His eyes caught on the blonde crew member as she practically shoved a make-up sponge into his eye; he held up a hand politely as a signal for her to _go away._ Finally, she left him alone, and he looked back to his wife. "Would it kill you to show some grace this morning, _darling_?" he asked, the last word very sharp-edged as if in warning.

Rolling her eyes, she adjusted her hair in the mirror and exhaled, feeling her stomach cave in. "I think I would feel more gracious after a bagel." Glancing back at the crew bimbo who now watched Conrad from afar, she raised her voice so that others could hear. "Would you be a dear-"

"Of course!" she piped in, nodding quickly before taking off to the left. Victoria felt her jaw tighten.

"-and let me finish my sentence?" she added quietly, leaning on the vanity. Fanning herself, she turned back to her husband. "Aren't you hot?"

Conrad raised an eyebrow, watching as she tried to cool herself. "Well, I appreciate your noticing. You're quite _hot_, yourself," he remarked playfully, winking at her. She hardly seemed amused, though her face did grow slightly pinker than it already was in this wretched heat.

"Thank you, Conrad, for ruining my appetite," she jabbed at him, though he was quite aware that he'd landed a nice hit on her resistance. She hadn't been expecting that one.

But his victory was short-lived, as he saw how she practically lay on the countertop, hands shaking slightly, skin pink and practically radiating heat. He recalled her first days of public events and interviews, nervous backstage and looking much like this, when she was just a young girl and very afraid of the world; but she had seen it all now. She was never anxious like this anymore.

"Are you all right?" he asked her quietly, careful not to gain attention from the crew around. She really did hate overenthusiastic stage hands, and twenty people in black running up and offering her aspirin was something he knew she did _not_ want. Turning his chair to face her, he added, "You seem nervous."

Looking up at him, she stopped fanning herself long enough to wave her hand dismissively at him. "Don't pretend to be concerned. It's demeaning for both of us." She saw in the mirror how pink her skin was becoming and flagged down one of the crew members from across the room. "Would you mind finding me a fan? I'm warm."

He eyed her cautiously as she stared into the mirror, blinking repeatedly. "I _am_ concerned, Victoria," he spoke up, voice escaping its whisper. "You don't look well."

"I'm tired!" she snapped at him, shooting daggers with her eyes. "And if you let one of these idiots hear you, I swear-"

"Is the lovely Mrs. Grayson not well?" a man asked from behind - she turned around and saw that the show's host was examining her, worry in his eyes, either for her health or his show and likely the latter. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. He had done that on purpose.

"Is there something I could get you, Mrs. Grayson?"

"I'm fine; thank you," she assured the man with a forced smile and a nod. Glancing over her shoulder, she added, "And please, do call me Victoria."

Conrad stopped the man as he was turning to leave. "Ted!" he addressed him, recapturing his attention. "Where would I find some water?"

"Ted" - was it impolite that Victoria hadn't even known his name? - nodded quickly. "I'll get someone to bring you some." Then he was gone, clearly having something better to do.

Victoria sighed and nearly fell against the vanity in stress. "Don't ever do that to me again," she demanded quietly. "I don't know what has gotten into you all of a sudden, but I would appreciate-"

"Victoria," he interrupted, suddenly on his feet and standing beside her. She looked up at him, wondering what had him so close; he peered down at her. "What's wrong?"

"I have a migraine," she muttered, beginning to fan herself again. "It's nothing to worry over."

"You should lie down," he argued, hand settling on her shoulder for a brief moment before she shook it away.

"It's not your problem," she argued right back, standing up. Balancing herself on the back of her chair for a moment, she ignored the look in his eye at her sway and shoved her hair behind her shoulder. "Where is that fan, after all? And my bagel?"

"Here's your water," he pointed out as he was handed a bottle of water. She blinked at him as he took a sip and handed it to her. "Drink up, or neither of us are going out there."

She narrowed her eyes, glancing between him and the outstretched bottle. "Fine." Rolling her eyes, she took the bottle and downed a fourth of the liquid - and after a breath, another fourth - before handing him the rest. "There," she muttered under her breath, full of sarcasm. "Daddy."

Conrad choked on water as he heard this uncharacteristic sass come from his wife. This gave her visible pleasure, and the shock of her unexpected remark now combined with the delight of seeing her genuinely smile, causing him to laugh at himself. This was slightly painful, water invading his lungs as he laughed, but he couldn't resist even a chuckle. She was always surprising.

They were then alerted that they had two minutes before going live, so they regained their straight faces, though it was tempting to laugh whenever they made eye contact. Once they had finished the bottle, Conrad took one more glance in the mirror and turned back to her. "Hopefully you've managed to cool down some."

Victoria snorted with one last adjustment to her hair. "Somewhat." Blinking sideways at him, she asked, "Why do you care?"

He opened his mouth to give a natural answer, but, remembering to whom he was speaking, he caught himself before letting the words slip and instead remained flippant. "Passing out on television isn't good for the image," he said simply, allowing no actual concern for her to show its face.

And although he was cautious in what he said and did that day, he did reach out and take her hand - nothing they hadn't done for the cameras, but he didn't care about the cameras today. Without eye contact, for fear of scaring her away, he led her to the stage and up the stairs, knowing that when the lights came on, she would pretend that she was in love with him - and he would be reminded of how much he wanted that to be reality, and how hard he would work to _make _it reality.

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_Thanks for reading :) Be sure to leave a review and let me know what you think._


	3. Protection

**You Never Gave Me a Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**3) Personal Threats and Promises of Protection**

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This wasn't the first death threat the Graysons had ever received, of course. In fact, it was one of many that they had been sent that year, and it wasn't much different from its predecessors - quite similar in its claims, but with one detail that had added to its credibility. At the end of the angry message, the words "Long Live David Clarke" were handwritten three times, in calligraphy nearly-identical to David's signature, which was etched into her brain like a nightmare.

After the bombing of Grayson Global, the phrase, typically referred to as "LLDC", had not only become more popularly known in the public, but was actually _used_ during two subsequent attempts on their lives. Conrad's limousine had been drained of brake fluid between rides to and from Grayson Manor, and Victoria had barely been missed by a bullet during a press conference. It was becoming apparent that someone was desperate to cause their deaths, and since these attacks, they had been put under house arrest until further notice.

So, doing as they were told, Conrad and Victoria stayed in their respective spaces - he in his bachelor's home-away-from-Manor and she in the Manor, alone. Charlotte had actually offered to stay with her mother, but out of protectiveness, Victoria told her that it was too risky and demanded that she and her brother stay far away from the line of fire. Thus far, no one had gunned for their children, and neither father nor mother intended to break that streak.

Tonight, however, Conrad was breaking the rules. When he had been presented with the letter, he saw a wave of fear rush through his wife's eyes, a tremble in her voice; and Victoria was not one to panic at the slightest event. These near-death experiences had grown disturbing for all the family, but she appeared to be completely robbed of her sense of security, left to wait and wonder when the next strike would occur. Conrad felt a twinge of concern for her, and he put this to use by throwing caution to the wind and leaving his bachelor home to visit Grayson Manor for the night. Whether or not she would have him was entirely up to her varying level of emotional distance that evening, but either way, he wanted to be there to protect her.

Victoria had been nervously bouncing around the house: deciding on food she would not eat and bringing it to and from the kitchen as her appetite appeared and disappeared; turning the TV on, then opening a book, then closing it and turning the TV off again; trying to give into the exhaustion that attacked her body but opening her eyes to check the windows at the turn of every minute. She had been floating through the house for twenty straight minutes, barefoot in her nightgown, when the doorbell sounded and caused her to jolt. She stood up, wondering who could have been dropping by at such an ungodly hour, and cautiously approached the front of the house.

As she glanced out the window - she wasn't supposed to go near the windows, but no one successfully told Victoria what to do - she realized who was interrupting her panicking, and that was her husband... who was supposed to be hiding away at his whore house under lock and key. What could have possessed him to endanger himself like that?

Opening the door quickly, she took one look at him before asking, "Do you have a death wish?"

"Not exactly," he replied smartly, with a comfortable smile despite the rain coming down around him and the dangerous attention he might have drawn. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation inside," he added quickly.

Flustered, Victoria didn't reply; instead, she opened the door and allowed him inside, though she had half-enough sense to shut him outside. He came inside without a word of thanks, as if he still owned the home, and took off. An annoyed Victoria shut the door behind him before chasing him into the kitchen.

He had already poured himself a cup of coffee before he actually answered one of her many questions pertaining to why he was _here_. He began to explain that, with the increasing threats becoming far too dangerous, he had come to watch the house – inadvertently, he had admitted that someone needed to protect _her_, and she assumed that this was the real reason for his presence. She had made a handful of excuses, but in the end, she lost out to his stubbornness. He was staying the night in Grayson Manor.

A couple of hours later, Victoria sleepily paced her bedroom, unable to lie down for fear of being overtaken by sleep. She brushed a hand through her hair anxiously, exhaling a long breath and blinking her eyes down into her drained mug of coffee. She was going to need another cup if she was ever going to stay awake for the rest of the night; a few more, actually. Perhaps she would venture into the kitchen for a refill and pray that Conrad wouldn't notice her, since she would have no idea what to say. She wouldn't know whether to thank him or send him home, but the first was entirely too demeaning and the second... truthfully, she didn't want him to leave. For the first time in a week, she actually felt some kind of security.

Cracking the door open, she listened for any indication that he was still awake downstairs. She heard the TV play quietly - news of some sort, but Victoria wondered what kind of mind-numbing news could have been on at four in the morning - but no footsteps were to be heard. Still, she heard no snoring, which could have meant anything. There was no way to know, so she rolled the dice and tiptoed downstairs with her empty cup in hand.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, she heard the coffeemaker running, meaning that someone had recently begun a new pot. Taking a breath, she walked barefoot into the kitchen, finding no one inside. Perhaps he had set the coffee and fallen asleep before it was ready.

No matter the circumstances, she took advantage of his mishap and poured fresh coffee into her mug, closing her eyes as the steam swirled up to hit her face. It was difficult to open her eyes again, sleep nearly taking her then and there, but she forced herself to stay awake and downed some of the cup, likely burning her mouth but beyond the point of caring. After so many days of exhaustion, it was difficult to care about anything except sleep.

Victoria then turned away from the coffeepot, about to return to her bedroom, but her eyes were caught on the way, finding Conrad seated in front of the TV. He sat up straight, scratching his head; he was still awake. And for some reason, his refusal to sleep tugged at her heartstrings. It struck her for the first time that he might have actually been _worried_ about her, enough to remain awake for hours on what she knew must have been his fifth cup of coffee. How oddly... loving.

Feeling somewhat guilty for causing him to drive over and stay up all night, she turned back to the coffee and poured another cup, carrying it in her other hand. Though she had no clue what she would say, she brought the beverages into the den, walking behind the couch.

Conrad heard her entrance and glanced backward to find her practically sleepwalking, looking so tired that it was both troubling and, somehow, cute. "I thought you'd be asleep by now," he remarked, eying her carefully.

Victoria nearly laughed at such an idea. "I could say the same." Handing him the second cup, she walked around the couch and took a seat on the opposite end, looking at the TV. A local story played that could not have interested a soul, so she narrowed her eyes and glanced sideways at him. "Conrad."

He looked up from his cup. "Yes?" he replied promptly, blinking. His eyes looked tired, half-open as the skin below them darkened. Victoria, leaning her elbow on the arm of the couch, simply shook her head.

"I just don't know what you're doing here," she admitted, sipping her drink and averting her eyes.

This statement seemed to confuse him, and he leaned forward to respond quietly; "I already told you why I'm here. Has your exhaustion made you forgetful?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes and began to rub her forehead. "Whatever," she relented uncharacteristically, showcasing just how little energy she still reserved. "I don't even know what to make of all this. It's insane."

Conrad sighed, setting his mug on the coffee table. "I'm sure this hysteria will die down eventually, and we'll be able to get on with our lives."

Victoria chuckled sarcastically. "The fact that you're so sure makes me even more doubtful that this will ever end."

"It will," he reassured her, turning the TV off. "Until then, I'm staying here."

She nearly choked on her coffee at this statement, eyes widening. "What was that?" she questioned, straightening up. Surely he didn't think he was moving back_ in_ with her…

"I'm going to be here to protect you," he declared without leaving room for argument, "whether you like it or not."

Setting her own drink down, she practically snorted. "Sleep deprivation may have taken some of my mental awareness, but you, my dear, have been robbed of it all." Voice deepening, she stared him down. "You are not staying in my house."

He remained firm. "I'm not looking for a fight, Victoria. I'll either stay inside, or I'll stand guard outside. It's your choice."

Victoria was prepared to fight back, of course, but sharp pain was developing in her temples and it stifled the words. She inhaled a large breath and closed her eyes, trying to stop the swirling pain, but it had been flaring up for days and tonight it was persistent. She couldn't go much longer like this.

Her thoughts were contradictory to her argument. If she truly did need sleep, and Conrad was willing to sacrifice his own rest for her, perhaps it was better to let him. Maybe she should just give in.

"You look like a disaster waiting to happen," he remarked unceremoniously - she would have glared at him if it weren't for the pain swelling between her eyes.

"Thank you," she said sarcastically, not at all grateful for anything except for his hushed tone. Anything louder might have knocked her out at this rate.

Victoria didn't have to look up to know that Conrad was closer, and watching her intently. She had no doubt he knew exactly what was going through her head, and he played to it by speaking in a soothing voice so as to relax her into consenting. "Go to sleep, sweetheart," he requested, throwing in a term of endearment that incited a strange discomfort in her - though she wasn't entirely sure she disliked it, but it was for this reason she hoped he never used it again. "You can easily kick me out tomorrow."

Taking this as permission to leave the conversation standing, she nodded slowly. "You're leaving in the morning," she muttered, although she wasn't sure this would actually happen. She stood and opened her eyes to look at him. "Goodnight."

He offered a small smile. "Sweet dreams."

Victoria was leaving the room, groaning at his sickeningly-sweet farewell. She knew he must have had some reason to have been so nice to her lately, but she couldn't for her life piece together what he wanted from her. What was his endgame?

He did have an endgame, of course. She just hadn't realized of what color his desire was.

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_Thanks for reading :) Don't forget to leave a review! Feedback is an author's best friend!_

_Also, you'll notice over the course of this story that there will be many instances of Victoria's insomnia, either pertaining to these threats or other situations. I've never thought of the Queen of the Hamptons as one who sleeps well at night, but this isn't simply a plot device - this insomnia plays a role in the growth of their relationship, so pay attention..._


	4. Dancing

**You Never Gave Me a Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**4) Distractedly Dancing with Another Date**

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She had made the claim of a migraine earlier that evening - practically falling into her chair, forehead burning in summer heat - and after three cups of coffee and a slight overdose on Advil, Conrad asked her to stay in for the night. When she relented sans argument, he was certain that she wasn't well enough to dance around and engage in endless conversation without running the risk of passing out. In this knowledge, he prepared to ring in the annual ball alone for the first time in all its years, and made arrangements for the Manor to remain empty so as to remove any noise that might interrupt her resting. So far that evening, she had actually managed to stay away, but all in all, she was Victoria Grayson, and she did not take orders.

For a woman who had been flushed and practically unconscious on the couch mere hours before, she was certainly breathtakingly beautiful as she stood in the doorway in the dark red dress she had been so looking forward to wearing and he to seeing her wear. Conrad wasn't the only man to notice her loveliness, of course, as the room seemed to bend toward her with every step into the ballroom; he was, however, the first man to take a step in her direction, and glad to be so, too. He refused to miss the first dance with his wife - especially not as gorgeous as she was that day.

So he walked toward her, moving around the various couples as they glided through the room. He hoped to catch her attention before she began her rounds - greeting every guest, drinking all the alcohol - in time to, if she truly was feeling better, steal her for the longest moment he could manage; or if she was still ill, to convince her to return to bed. Whether she would succumb to either of these ideas was yet to be determined, but he was willing to take his chances.

He smiled as he watched her from a few feet away, working his way through a fog of men as they clouded around her like moths to a flame. Her eyes found his, and her face lit up; likely acting up for spectators, but he didn't care, simply enjoying her beautiful beam. With a few more men out of the way, he was in front of her, and he could fully see the brightness in her eyes. "Victoria," he breathed.

She nodded at him, remaining in her relaxed state of pleasure. "You seem surprised," she remarked playfully, allowing him to take her hand, though with a raised eyebrow. "I hope I haven't ruined the night for some young lady somewhere."

Conrad let the comment roll off his shoulders and brought her hand up to his chest. "You look lovely, dear," he stated, kissing her hand while his eyes remained on her. Her arm stiffened, but she didn't tug her hand away, giving him hope to offer her a dance. "Would you do me the honor-"

"Victoria..." a voice from their left cut his request short, pulling Victoria's gaze from him and toward another man. Conrad didn't recognize him, but she did, apparently. "It has been far too long since I laid eyes on you, love," he announced admonishingly.

Conrad's jaw stiffened, already disliking the man.

But his wife was clearly less guarded when it came to the stranger, as she allowed _him_ to take her other hand without wavering. "George," she greeted him, grin widening. "Where on earth have you been hiding these days?"

"George" now kissed her hand in a similar manner, only receiving a more delighted reaction. Conrad, dejected, released her other hand and glanced between the two as they spoke. "I've been traveling," he explained, enticing her inborn sense of wonder. "I must tell you all about it."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding. "Perhaps over lunch sometime."

"Why not now?" he asked, eyes shifting between Conrad and his wife. Turning to make eye contact with the other man, _George_ added, "I don't mean to interrupt, of course."

Conrad swallowed the urge to kick the man out, and instead felt his pride rising up in his throat. If Victoria was so happy to see _George_, then who was he, her _husband_, to interrupt their magical evening? "Please," he said falsely with a smile. "I'm sure you'd make her night."

Victoria took her eyes off _George_ long enough to send her husband a grateful grin, but this was all she could offer before she was swept away by her new ballroom partner. No sooner had he taken both her hands than had he begun to spin her around the room - Conrad, left with nothing to do, stood by and made idle conversation with surrounding company, while _George_ led his former ballerina across the floor. Despite himself, he had to smile at her radiance; she never seemed happier than when she danced, seemingly walking on air.

Later, as one dance ended and another began, Victoria and her stranger were still sharing the floor, and Conrad was walking to the bar until he was intercepted. A young lady - blonde, slightly over five-foot - stepped in front of him with a smile on her face. She introduced herself as an ambitious businesswoman and new investor in Grayson Global, by the name of Angelica, and offered to buy him a drink. He declined politely, but when she remarked that she loved to waltz, he glanced at his wife discreetly; saw her having the time of her life with _George_, and decided to have a dance of his own with _Angelica._

So they took to the floor, hand in hand, and he tried to ignore how cold her touch was. He led her into the dance, a smile on his face, and when she attempted at first to lead, he remained gracious and began again. On the inside, he was dying to dance with a more suitable partner.

On the outside, however, he and his blonde appeared to be enjoying themselves in their awkward waltz, and this caught the corner of Victoria's eye as she floated around the room. This surprising sight distracted her from the less-and-less-interesting tales of Europe as they fell out of George's mouth at an impressive rate, and she found her eyes constantly wandering over his shoulder, wondering what her husband was doing with another woman in the middle of their ball. Inwardly, she wanted to exchange partners, but for the sake of her friendly history with George and her own pride, she waited until the end of the waltz to ask him for a drink. She let out a sigh of relief as he took to the bar; her headache was beginning to resurface after two dances with his thumping steps practically nailing her to the marble floor when she was trying desperately to fly...

"Victoria?"

Hearing the voice from behind, she turned around quickly, not expecting to see Conrad so easily detached from his partner. She blinked at him, eyebrows raised. "Conrad. I'm glad to see you're having a good time."

He glanced backward at Angelica, whom he had sent to the bar for that drink. _A good time,_ he echoed sarcastically as he turned back to his wife. "One could say that."

Victoria hummed in reply, awkwardly shifting her eyes as she waited for her partner to return. "I must have been a stressful partner," she noted, eyes on the bar. "He seemed eager for a drink."

Conrad chuckled, somewhat pleased that she was having as terrible a time as he. "Would you like to dance?" he asked finally, growing tired of beating around the bush. Although he knew this would likely blow up in his face, he had no choice but to throw his hat in the ring.

She seemed surprised at his question, but she didn't scowl or turn him down. Straight-faced, with a contented sigh, she muttered, "I thought you'd never ask."

With that, she extended her hand, easier to attain than Conrad had ever remembered. He had to take a moment to register this unexpected turn of events before accepting her hand and pulling her in cautiously.

They didn't talk as they eased into the steps, but his mind was alive all the while. It first came to attention how much warmer and softer her hands were, a sharp contrast to Angelica's. He was surprised at how well she fit in his arms, body absent of sharp edges and awkward bones. She didn't feel frail in his grasp - she was strong, but gentle, high heels clicking lightly against the floor with the quiet beat of the music.

At first, he was self-conscious as he guided her across the floor, trying to hold up to her dancing experience. He felt the pressure of dark and deep eyes blinking up at him, threatening to pull him in where he wasn't welcome. After managing to survive through the first minute or so without completely falling apart around her, he felt her relax in his arms. Her eyes fell closed as she lost herself in the music; he had seen her do this a few times before, and every time, it was breathtaking. Gravity began to lose control over her, and she seemed lighter than air as she glided through the turns. She was in outer space, and she was taking him with her upon every step.

Victoria was relieved to feel familiar arms around her, dancing with a partner who had a freer spirit; she had to wonder why she hadn't accepted his offer in the first place. After all, he seemed to be the only one who knew just how to hold her: gently, freely, but firmly. He knew how to lead her with carrying her or losing her - how to keep her in the atmosphere without pinning her to the floor. He understood her like no other man did, and that was indispensable in her life, whether she knew it or not.

Without a word spoken between the two, they carried on, her head resting on his shoulder and his eyes on her the entire time; dancing into the night for three or four more songs before parting ways to engage with their company. The connection seemed to have had the same effect on both Conrad and Victoria, as he walked around with a dumb grin on his face and she managed through the rest of the endless night without any resurgence of head pain.

They didn't talk about any of those moments; not ever, really. Still, it did affect the way they looked at each other the next day, and that was a miracle to work on Victoria. Rarely did she change her opinion on anyone, but he was beginning to make her question things.

* * *

_Happy Easter!_

_Thanks for reading :) Thank you to everyone who reviewed - I love feedback more than anything else! Pretty please leave a review and lemme know what you think._


	5. Limousine

**You Never Gave Me a Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**5) A Long Night Lying in a Limousine**

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Victoria wasn't looking forward to the drive they had coming their way. They were looking at three hours on the road, and since the Graysons were neither able to agree on a radio station nor make pleasant conversation in a closed environment without a heavy measure of sarcasm (and an occasional slap on her part), it made for a long period of awkward silence wherein two emotionally-distant people sat with a foot of space between them and stared at their phones, or out the window, or into the back of their eyelids, depending on the time of day. Since this trip took place through the latest hours of the night - specifically, from midnight to three o'clock in the morning - the two expected sleep to entertain them, and not much else; although they were otherwise distracted from their boredom by the scattered jolts of their limousine driver, Reese, for whose clumsy road etiquette he would have been fired much before now if it weren't for his now-and-then preference to Victoria in the case of an argument, for which she was too grateful to let him go. Conrad didn't much care for him, but Victoria was adamant in his presence as both driver and mediator. Whatever the reason, Reese wasn't the smoothest chauffeur, and this made for quite restless evening rides.

That night, after a never-ending dinner party, Mrs. Grayson was even less patient with the three long hours ahead. As soon as she was released from the grasp of the Grayson family reunion, saying her goodbyes to Daniel as he drove home with Emily and apologizing once again for Charlotte's inexplicable absence, she fell into the back of the limousine and let out the breath she had been holding all evening. Her eyelids instantly fell prey to gravity and she lay back as well as she could in the chair's upright position, sleep already pleading with her. She tried to stave it off, knowing that rest would be nearly impossible to reach on the road, their ride stopping and starting with endless interstate traffic simply because the weather was too tumultuous for a jet that day. It was tempting to broach the idea of finding a hotel, but she knew Conrad would not consent and she had no desire to fight.

So she turned on her side and rested her head between the seat and the door, allowing no discomfort to deter her, and permitted sleep to do its number on her until her husband found his way into the vehicle. Perhaps she could manage to work a little rest under her belt before he escaped his family...

_"...certainly a night for the books, wasn't it?"_

His voice ushered her back into reality and out of half-sleep only a few minutes later, and she wished with everything in her that he hadn't. One of her burning eyes managed to expose itself to the harsh lights of the street lamps, and she inhaled a hot breath, realizing just how warm the vehicle had grown during her unconsciousness. "What was that?" she exhaled the question, glancing over her shoulder. Through barely-parted eyelashes, she saw an uncomfortable expression on his face as he sized her up.

"I didn't realize you were sleeping," he stated sheepishly - this was a strange color on him. She sat up and turned toward him to investigate.

"Not well," she muttered, stretching lightly as she attempted to return to the world. "Were you asking me something?"

Conrad shrugged, shaking his head. "Nothing important. You can rest."

She rolled her eyes. "I won't." Arm reaching up to fix her hair, she leaned her side against the back of the seat and examined the smile on his face. "I assume you've had a nice evening."

It was apparent as he attempted to play down his expression that he truly had enjoyed himself this year. "For once, my father and I are on good terms; no doubt due to something you've said," he pointed out knowingly. He was fully aware of his wife's close relationship with his father, and whenever his own happened to turn up, it usually had something to do with her. "I've never realized how much easier things can be when you're with me rather than against."

Victoria laughed. "Don't think I'm on your side merely because I helped you. I tend to keep my enemies dangerously close."

"But not as close as the people you love," he reminded her.

She smirked. "Don't think I _love_ you, either."

Looking her straight in the eyes, he replied lightheartedly, "I don't."

With that, the conversation ended, and their drive began, as Reese stepped into the vehicle and started the engine. Victoria rolled onto her side once again, knowing fully well that she would only stare out the tinted window and pretend to be resting so that Conrad wouldn't turn on the radio, or make any noise at all, really. Something about the fact that she was asleep always managed to shut him up.

For the next twenty minutes or so, she lay there in desperation for sleep. She tossed and turned every once in a while, switching from one side to the other, tilting to her left and to her right in an attempt to find a comfortable position in which she could possibly find rest. Conrad noticed her restlessness from the other side of the vehicle, but he pretended not to notice - after all, Victoria was a woman of her own means and would, by and by, figure out how to make herself comfortable. Still, though he knew this was true, he couldn't help but think about how tired she must have been. He had watched her play happy, shiny wife all through the day: sweet-talking his father into getting along with Conrad and working his cousins like a charm, complimenting his god-awful sister and calmly receiving showers of insults in return, and even offering to say grace over the meal, which won over his religious aunt in an instant. There was nothing that day Victoria hadn't done to make this reunion a success, either for her husband or her father-in-law whom she loved like family, and at the end of the night, she was treated to exhaustion and hours left before returning home. Conrad felt he ought to express his thanks somehow.

"Victoria?"

She looked over at him. "Yes?" she mumbled, lack of sleep burying her voice somewhere deep inside her lungs. He watched her for a moment.

"You don't seem extremely comfortable," he noted vaguely, catching her attention.

Victoria raised an eyebrow and sat up slightly. "I've underestimated your observational talents, Conrad. You have a gift."

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but he didn't allow it to annoy him. Instead of replying at all, he reached out an arm, offering her something more comfortable on which she might lie her head. She seemed startled at his offer, eyes widening, but she didn't scoff or roll her eyes as was expected. Actually, she responded quite unexpectedly by sliding over in her seat - tentatively, but nonetheless moving in his direction - and cautiously, eyes stuck on his all the while, allowed him to loop his arm around her. Once settled, she rested her head on his shoulder gently, without a word.

Conrad was tempted to freeze beneath her, being so unused to her nearness and unsure of what had caused her to actually _accept_ an offer that was simply made out of courtesy and in the knowledge that she _wouldn't_ respond positively. Still, afraid his tenseness would scare her away, he relaxed beneath her and allowed his hand to naturally curve around her waist, holding her loosely at his side. He was amazed when she remained, lying calmly in his arms. Although he couldn't crane his neck down to see, she soon allowed her eyes to close, taking the chance that he wouldn't suddenly eject her from his embrace in the name of bewilderment at their strange situation.

A minute or two passed by the time her breaths grew deeper, her heartbeat slower, her body softer. Surprised that he had actually put her to sleep, he waited another ten or fifteen minutes before venturing to rest his head atop hers, lightly enough so as not to wake her until he, too, drifted into a light sleep...

When they arrived home hours later, Reese exited the limousine and opened Victoria's door, expecting to find her eager to escape the vehicle. Instead, he found two Graysons curled up together, fast asleep on the far side of the backseat. Flustered by a sight he had never expected to see in all his years of working for the couple, he didn't know whether to wake them or to leave them there. After a moment of careful deliberation, he opened his mouth to address them; but Mr. Grayson opened his eyes, blinking up at the driver. A slight shake of his head was all he needed to know that it was better to leave them where they were than to break whatever spell had enchanted the back of the Grayson limousine.

* * *

_Thanks so much for reading! To everyone who reviewed, followed, favorited, or is just following along, you guys are awesome-possum :) I hope you'll continue to read and review so I'll know if you like it!_

_It's funny, because I was never going to post this story; I usually just write for myself as practice. My main reason for writing a multichapter story like this was because I really wanted to write cute ConVict fluff, but I was having trouble writing it from their current position of "I hate you don't touch me" - so I went back to season 2 (the ConVict happy place, haha) and made them start to fall in love instead, so I could use it as a base for fluff fics full of kissing and hand-holding and all the stuff they wouldn't do now. I'm trying to keep them in-character, of course, but my point is... this isn't following the show. I don't even know what area of season 2 I'm in, so don't bother trying to figure out when Patrick comes in or Emily and Daniel get married or whatever. __ I'm just screwing around._

_Sorry. You didn't care about any of that. Carry on._


	6. Argument

**You Never Gave Me a Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**6) An Argument that Arranges Unexpected Allies**

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Conrad had been expecting chaos from the moment Charlotte had announced that she was moving back home. The idea that his volatile daughter and his even-more-volatile wife would be living under the same roof without anyone present to cool the fire was frightening on multiple scales - he feared for both of their lives. There was just _no_ way this was going to work.

After the first few days of shared living, Conrad saw very little change in Charlotte's demeanor, but it quickly became apparent that Victoria's patience was being severely tried. Each time he caught a good look at her, he was surprised to observe the emotional exhaustion that showed clearly on her face and in every action she took. She was too short of energy to pick even one fight with her husband that week; which at first seemed to be a positive result of this thought-catastrophe. As the week progressed, however, what little energy she still reserved was increasingly used to verbally assault the undeserving - including himself - and this had resulted in the loss of two housekeepers and his own injured pride. It wasn't until the day she began throwing things at him that Conrad decided to begin checking in on the happy family. He was surprised to find mother and daughter already engaged in a war of words during his first visit.

"Mom, they're not mine! Don't you believe me?"

"Charlotte, don't lie to me. I can see them in your eyes!"

The music of an original Grayson screaming match filled his ears from the moment he opened the front door, and in he walked to the cadence of their angry voices and thumping steps - he tracked these footfalls to the living room, and he followed to find his wife standing over their daughter in her slouched stance in front of the couch. Fear was in the brown eyes of the first, while drugs blurred the brown eyes of the second; tension radiated from the bubble in which they seemed to stand, locked-in on each other with determination thickening the air they breathed. Conrad was beginning to wish he hadn't entered the house.

Still, with nowhere to run but into the fight, he cleared his throat loudly enough to attract the attention of both women. Charlotte merely glanced his way dismissively, while Victoria did a full turn, some kind of unreadable expression in her eyes. "Conrad," she sighed, exasperated.

He raised his eyebrows at her surrendered tone. "What's going on?" he questioned, blinking from his distraught wife to his indignant daughter. His gaze settled on Victoria - rather, the plastic bag of pills she clutched in one hand, dangling at eye-level.

"I found these under her bed," she informed him.

"Why were you looking under my bed?" Charlotte asked accusingly, pulling her mother back to her. "Don't you trust me at all?"

Victoria laughed at that. "It's becoming apparent that I can't do that anymore. How long have you been using, Charlotte?"

Her daughter remained silent, crossing her arms. Conrad furrowed his brow and stepped further into the room, reaching Victoria's side. "Charlotte, answer your mother," he addressed her calmly. She didn't respond as peaceably.

"Dad, you can't tell me you believe any of this," Charlotte pleaded with him, staring seemingly into his soul. "This is _clearly_ another one of her sad attempts to regain control of everything!"

Victoria's eyes widened in injury. "I'm worried about you, Charlotte!"

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped in reply, stepping dangerously close to her steaming mother. "All you want is to lock me up so you'll have more time for Daniel and your _other_ illegitimate child!"

As he sensed escalation, Conrad stepped between the two women, reaching out to his obviously-influenced daughter. "No one wants to lock you up, Charlotte. Your mother and I want to _help_ you."

"As if you two would help anyone!" Charlotte spat, jerking away from his hand. "I am _not_ on drugs!"

"Charlotte-" he began, but was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to Victoria, who was staring at him with a resigned expression, and was shocked to see her shake her head slowly.

"There's no use in arguing when she's like this," she stated, eyes tired and face flushed. Turning to her daughter, she added quietly, "Goodnight, Charlotte. We'll talk in the morning."

Charlotte rolled her eyes and pushed past her mother. "Goodnight, Victoria_,_" she tossed over her shoulder, adding insult to injury. Conrad knew this last bite was one that would continue to gnaw at his wife - a mother who had early in her years of parenting exposed her fear of being hated by her children. Since those days, she had grown much thicker skin, but these small comments - "I hate you", or even being called anything but _mom_ - still hit her core, though she would never admit such.

Once they heard her bedroom door slam shut, Conrad turned to her, his face likely the picture of confusion. "That was unexpected," he stated quietly, examining her expression as she stared at the doorway through which her daughter had escaped.

"I've been suspecting this since her first night here," she muttered, eyes suddenly shiny with tears. He swallowed his fear at this sight - Victoria didn't typically cry during these fights. What was it about this single argument that had her so emotionally beaten?

Conrad sighed, moving closer so as to whisper his words. "We've faced addiction with Daniel, and he made it out the other end," he reminded her, but she didn't seem at all placated.

"Charlotte's different," she admitted, averting her eyes from his. "I can't figure her out. She never lets me in."

Blinking at her, he glanced at the door and replied quietly, "Maybe this is your chance to get closer to her."

Victoria looked up at him, tears beginning to escape the grasp of her eyelashes. "You don't understand, Conrad. We never _had_ a relationship to begin with, and now..."

By the time he saw her hand come up to cover her mouth, it was too late to say anything; a sob choked her words, her voice stalling before she finished in short breath, coming out like a sorrowful laugh. "I'm losing her."

He watched her silently as she began to unravel, though she fought a valiant battle with her own emotions until her eventual loss. Tears began dripping from her eyelashes and her face paled, starkly contrasting the dark hair that fell in her face as she looked at the floor, ashamed. He wasn't sure what to do, but his subconscious mind took over, without any input from his conscious mind, which contained all logic and self-preservation.

Conrad was cautious but unafraid as he took one step forward and brought his arms up to loop around her waist loosely. He expected her head to shoot up and fire an angry remark as he pulled her in gently, but she didn't even seem surprised; she simply moved into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder as if this was a natural, everyday occurrence. In a moment, he was holding her for the first time in what seemed like forever, and she finally had a shoulder on which she could let out frustrated and exhausted tears.

"I don't know what to do with this," Victoria admitted between gasping breaths, a trembling hand reaching up to swipe tears from her cheeks. He tentatively began running his hand up and down her back in a slow attempt at comfort, simply flustered and upset by the sound and sight of her crying. "I don't even know what she's upset about anymore. I never figure out something's wrong until I find Daniel wasted or Charlotte popping pills..."

Her voice trailed off, and he sighed sadly, unsure of what to say. "What do you need me to do?" he eventually asked, sincerely wanting to help her out of this. It wasn't fair to leave the parenting to her, after all - especially with everything else on her plate.

She shook her head in resignation, trying to regain composure. "I can't do this anymore. I need help."

He swallowed, loosening his grip on her waist. His next question was a dangerous one, but he asked anyway, prepared to jump backward if she was angered by the idea. "Would it help if I moved back in?"

Conrad was again surprised at how well she responded to him that night, as she pulled back enough to look at him seriously and asked, "Back into the manor? With Charlotte and me?"

"For now," he added quickly, glancing at the doorway. "Until things settle down - if you want, that is."

Victoria seemed torn for a moment, blinking between him and couch where Charlotte had sat and thrown words of hatred at her. The days spent receiving these attacks had amounted to enough stress and sleeplessness that she actually surrendered; nodding her head, she replied, "I suppose she'll respond better to you. She knows you love her."

Surprised for the third time, he had to remind himself to take a breath before replying in words of reassurance. "Sometimes it's hard for people to realize they're loved," he said quietly, speaking from experience. "You just have to keep loving them in hopes that they see it."

Victoria offered a small smile; the words seemed to go over her head. She didn't appear to realize that he was talking about _her._

* * *

_Ack! Sorry for waiting so long to post. My internet is playing hide-and-seek, but I think it's fixed now. Anyway, t__hanks so much for reading! I hope you'll follow, favorite, or hopefully leave a review and tell me what you think._

_ASDFGHJKL THE SHOW IS BREAKING MY HEART! ConVict is more painful to ship than it used to be, now that the writers are making Conrad so ruthless, but I'll just keep holding on... Meanwhile, I've been writing fanfiction like a mad person in order to cope and I'm in the middle of a (tumultuous) sequel to this story. I have no idea if I'll ever post it, but I'm just sayin'... I'll have a (probably crappy) sequel ready by the end of this one, so if you'd ever want to read it, lemme know and I might post. It'll be a little more... dangerousss..._

_So yay :) Conrad and Victoria are living together now. That makes a little more fun possible, huh?_

_Okay I'm done wasting your time bye._


	7. Hurricane

**You Never Gave Me a Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**7) Hiding from a Hurricane in the Hamptons**

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The Graysons had only gotten the warning call ten minutes ago, and by then, the rest of the world had known. When Conrad had walked into the Manor mere hours ago, the weather was merely wind and a little rain. He had never expected it to grow into a tropical storm - if he had, he would have made Charlotte come home from the Stowaway before her intended six o'clock. Unfortunately, he hadn't known, so the whereabouts of their children were questionable when the developing hurricane was announced.

Conrad had never worried over storms before. He happened to have a wife that was _terrified_ of hurricanes, and this fear created in her an unmatched vigilance for this type of weather. When a storm was headed their way, Victoria called her family and warned them before the state did. She was supposed to know about these things; he depended on her for that.

But she was busy this week, setting up the art gallery and worrying over one of her upcoming events, and she hadn't paid attention to the tiny storm developing off the coast. This time, she was the last to know, and the realization had sent her rushing to his study with fear in her eyes. _"Conrad!"_ she had shouted on her way, bursting into the room without precedence. Her face appeared quite childlike in fear as she ordered quietly, _"Call one of the children."_

Victoria was on the phone with someone in the living room now, and he had just ended his conversation with Charlotte. Although he could hardly hear her over the rain in the background, he knew she was safe - helping Jack usher his customers to safety. After he had collected her promise to remain indoors when the hurricane hit, he told her he loved her and hung up to deliver the news of her safety to his frightened wife.

Conrad found her in the living room, sitting on the couch. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he realized she was still on the phone.

"I'm fine," she informed one of her sons, her voice trembling as thunder rolled outside. She was visibly shivering, even though it was warm enough in the house - it was a habit she developed under stress. The shake was invading her voice as she urged him, "Please be careful, okay? I love you." She inhaled. "All right. Call me later."

He swallowed, watching her hang up the phone, and stepped into the room. "Charlotte's safe," he spoke up, causing her to turn quickly. She seemed to relax somewhat when she heard this, and she stood up. "She's helping Jack prepare, but they're about to go indoors."

"Into the Stowaway?" she asked incredulously.

"Into the library," he corrected her, causing her to settle down once again. Nodding toward the phone in her hand, he asked, "Who was that?"

Victoria sighed, glancing toward the window as rain attacked the glass loudly. "Patrick. He's on his way home right now." Attention back on her phone, she began dialing again. "I hope Daniel's okay..."

Conrad walked closer, watching intently as she held the phone up to her ear. She was silent for what seemed like eternity before her expression went cold. She pulled the phone away and dialed again, but her eyes did not relax nor did she speak into the phone. "He isn't answering," she muttered, wide eyes meeting his in an intense stare. "Conrad, he isn't answering his phone."

Sensing the panic in her voice, he held out a hand of reassurance and pulled out his phone. "I'm sure he's fine. He's probably with Emily," he decided, selecting the name of his son's fiancé in his contacts. He held the phone up to wait for an answer.

Victoria saw that he was calling Emily and she walked over to him, stepping close enough to take the phone from him and hold it between them to listen. While the phone rang, his attention was turned to his wife as she listened to the call anxiously, hand shaking as it moved her hair away from her eyes. He hated to see her so afraid; he felt compelled to comfort her somehow. So he took advantage of her closeness and wrapped his freed hand around her waist, gently drawing her in. She must have been too focused to fight him at the time, because she actually relaxed into his arm without a word.

_"Hello?"_

He was relieved to hear Emily on the line, and spoke up instantly. "Emily, this is Conrad. Is Daniel with you?"

Emily hesitated to reply, her voice a whisper. _"I was hoping he was with you. He isn't answering his phone."_

"We know that," Victoria muttered, shivering again. He ran his fingertips along her side gently, surprised when she didn't pull away. "Where did you see him last?"

_"We went to lunch,"_ she replied over the thunderous noises outside. _"He didn't tell me what he was doing today, and he hasn't called me."_

Conrad sighed. "Thank you, Emily," he replied, though there wasn't much she had really done for them. "We'll keep trying to call him."

The instant he hung up the phone, Victoria stepped out of his arms and across the room without a word. Knowing how worried she was, Conrad tried to explain this away. "Victoria, let's stay calm. I'm sure he's all right, wherever he is."

Victoria turned back, eyes shining. "You were 'sure' he was with Emily, but he isn't," she replied shortly, hands shaking noticeably as she picked up her phone and marched in his direction. He reached out, hand managing to graze her elbow before she was past him and rushing into the kitchen. From that room, he heard the jingle of keys and furrowed his brow.

"Where do you think you're going?" he questioned, following her into the kitchen. She was heading toward the hallway, keys and umbrella in hand, without even a coat to brace the weather. He chased her into the hall and halfway down before grabbing her shoulder and turning her around. "What are you _doing?_"

"I'm going to look for my son," she announced without missing a beat, jerking her shoulder away.

His eyes widened. "Are you out of your mind?" he questioned, stepping toward her. "You are _not_ going out there!"

This demand was made out of love, but Victoria took it as an order - and she did not respond well to orders. "And why on _earth_ do you think I'd take orders from you?" she asked sharply before turning back to the door.

He began to follow her again, growing frustrated. "Would you just listen to me for a minute? You could get seriously hurt!"

"Daniel could already be hurt!" she replied over her shoulder, hand reaching for the doorknob. Conrad intercepted her, setting a hand on her elbow, and she jerked away; he saw fire in her eyes as she turned around. "If you grab me again, I swear-"

"I'm trying to save your life!" he argued angrily, wishing she would simply hear him out. "You're going to get yourself killed over something that we aren't sure has even happened."

"Would you leave me alone?" she demanded. "I don't know why you're suddenly pretending to be a husband, but I suggest you cut it out and leave me alone!"

This comment stung him, and it must have been visible on his face, because she froze after saying it. The scale of his conflicting worry for her and anger at her was now tipped in the latter direction, and he stopped fighting her. "Fine," he relented quietly. "I will leave you _alone_."

And he stepped back, hands up in surrender, as background to his words. She was confused at first, swallowing, until she finally turned back and opened the door. A frightening gust of wind and rain blew into the Manor instantaneously, and Conrad had to stifle any twinge of guilt this caused him as he watched her step out into the storm and pull the door behind her.

Once he was alone, he felt as if a weight should have been lifted. _She's gone,_ he noted inwardly with a sigh. _There's nothing else I can do._

But as he tried to walk away from the door, he found each footstep grew heavier, and with them, his heart. He tried to erase from his thoughts the mental image of Victoria fighting the rain and wind outside, goosebumps running up her arms and ankles shaking in her ridiculously-high heels... and she must have been so afraid. He knew she was afraid.

Conrad shoved these worrisome thoughts down. _Leave her alone,_ he reminded himself, stepping into the kitchen. _Leave her alone._

The thoughts grew louder, though; he wondered how close the hurricane was, or if the debris already blowing around was enough to hurt someone, or if she was already hurt. He hadn't heard the car start - but it was a far walk from where he had parked it. Maybe there was a chance to catch up with her.

Eventually, he couldn't help himself, no matter how many times he repeated her words in her mind. He plucked her coat from the coatrack, returned to the door, and took off after her.

Victoria was curled into herself as she walked, only ten feet or so from the car, when he managed to reach her. She hadn't heard him over the rain until he spoke. "Victoria!"

Clearly surprised, she turned around quickly and found her husband stepping toward her, panting. He held her damp coat in one hand and gestured for her to take it. Though no words were spoken, she knew that he was still trying to make her come inside.

Though it was difficult to speak over the rain, her annoyed voice managed to carry itself. "What is the matter with you?" she asked loudly, taking a step in his direction. "You just told me you would leave me alone!"

He squinted at her through the wind and continued to hold out her coat. "I can't do that," he admitted, nodding toward his hand. She eyed him stubbornly, not moving toward his hand. "Just take the coat!"

Victoria paused, watching him... and accepted the coat calmly. After examining it for a moment, she opened her mouth to work at some sort of vague thanks, but she was interrupted by her phone ringing.

Pulling it out of her pocket, she answered immediately: "Hello?"

After a moment of listening, Conrad saw her expression relax and she exhaled. "Oh, thank God!"

He watched her eyes as she listened into the phone, all the while hoping this meant she was done with her mother-bear episode.

"Yes! All right. Thank you, Emily." After hanging up, Victoria informed him in relief, "He just showed up at the Stowaway."

Conrad sighed. "Good." He didn't hesitate before nodding toward the house, asking, "Will you come inside now?"

Now that this scare was over, she consented to follow him inside, and they shut the door behind them, blocking out the hurricane and all the damage it was likely to cause. Conrad knew it was going to be another thing entirely to try to keep her in the basement, where they had very little cell phone signal, but he decided to take it one step at a time. He was going to keep her safe - whether she liked it or not.

His care for her that day truly had enlightened Victoria. Though she continuously tried to reason with the memories of his concern, she couldn't find cause for his mania if not _love_. She never would have considered such an idea before that day, but it was becoming more and more apparent with time. Suddenly, the Conrad she _thought_ she understood was beginning to surprise her.

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_Thanks so much for reading! I hope you'll review, follow, favorite, whatever, to let me know that this story is being enjoyed :)_

_Ugh, the season finale is going to screw us all up. I can't begin to explain how fearful I am for our ship, but whatever happens, no matter who is behind bars or whatever, I'm gonna write because I'm in a different timeline. It's my only way to handle how much these writers are HURRRTTTTING MEEEEE..._

_By the way, I'm writing that sequel and I think I'm in love with the idea. It **was** going to be a bit darker than this story, but since Revenge is getting so dark already, I thought I would write something... fluffier :) But not without a sturdy plot, I solemnly swear. I'd tell you about it, but it would spoil the last chapter of this story, and I just can't do that. Anyway, I just spent two hours writing the first chapter so that's why I'm rambling about it. Forgive me. And bye._


	8. Kiss

**You Never Gave Me a Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**8) A Kiss for Keeping Up Kindness**

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_A sudden change of heart,_ Victoria had been told. _He is perfectly willing to display his art in your gallery, Mrs. Grayson._

She didn't believe a word of this statement. Donovan couldn't have had a change of heart - he would first have needed to acquire a heart, and this in itself was highly unlikely. She had never known a single man to change his mind overnight, as they were all stuck in their stubborn ways, no matter the person nor the circumstances. The only exceptional man that had managed an about-face in his recent behavior was her enigmatic husband, who was lately stopping at _nothing_ to comply to her every wish and appeal to any and all of her weaknesses. Even this rare case of masculine kindness seemed ambiguous in its transparency.

Victoria wasn't sure of what had changed in Conrad months ago. She had naturally assumed that she was merely comparing his recent actions to his horrible treatment of her during their divorce, and that, in reality, nothing had really changed since their first marriage. However, this excuse was quite a weak attempt to explain away his everyday behavior: complimenting her, holding her hand, defending her... If Victoria hadn't known better, she would have jumped to the conclusion that he actually _cared_ about her.

This instantaneous turn of events in her battle to obtain and display James Donovan's art was more than likely to be another of Conrad's many confusing gestures. This egotistical, but nevertheless talented artist was completely uninterested in the opinions or business dealings of a woman, no matter how rich or powerful - only a male influence would have swayed Donovan, and there was no question as to whose influence this was.

Conrad had been home for twenty minutes already; Victoria waited for him to approach her, as she knew he would if this was truly his doing. He was always watching for her reaction with this hopeful expression on his face, as if he was expecting something in return. Multiple times she had asked if he was attempting to achieve some sort of goal in whatever he thought he was doing, but he consistently denied her claims. This baffled her.

As if on cue, he strutted out of the kitchen and into the living room, pretending not to notice her where she sat on the couch. She was torn between addressing him and waiting for the fish to bite, but she eventually decided to remain focused on her tablet, equally-experienced in the waiting game. He was the first to speak.

"I hope you've had a pleasant day," he remarked nonchalantly as he stepped into the room. She hesitated to look up at him.

"A fortunate day," she corrected him, scrolling through her list of emails and selecting one of interest. "That pig-headed artist I've been chasing has suddenly consented to a business partnership." Turning her tablet around to show him the apology sent from Donovan, she glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Conrad leaned on the back of the couch and scanned the email, acting as if he hadn't expected this to happen. "It's certainly surprising," he decided quietly, his voice playful, "the way people change."

Victoria narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't understand why you're doing this," she stated in a low voice. He blinked at her, feigning innocence; she continued, "I'm fully aware that _you_ are the reason this deal went through. I'm just puzzled as to _why._"

He seemed amused by her paranoia and stepped around the couch, taking a seat beside her. "Until I'm reassured that you aren't _angered_ by this good fortune, I won't take any credit for it. I _will_ say that anything I do for you, my dear, is not in the expectation of kindness in return."

This comment was indistinguishable between honesty and insult, but Victoria allowed it to pass and instead addressed the real issue. "I mentioned my issue with Donovan twice at the most. What could have _possibly_ compelled you to intervene?"

Conrad seemed annoyed by her questioning and sighed. "Is it so hard for you to believe that I simply want to _help_ you?"

"Why would you?" she asked, sitting up to level with him.

"Because I care about you!" he admitted accidentally, and this completely derailed the entire conversation.

Victoria was silent - eyes wide, perplexed at his announcement. Her mouth opened as if to reply, but she didn't speak. She simply stared at him, trying to process something so ridiculous while attempting to muster up her own response; but she could think of nothing.

The pair of Graysons were engaged in a staring match for seemingly forever, while Victoria's mind raced and Conrad's began to blank. He knew that he should have been amending his claim, but the influence of her stare was adding an enormous amount of pressure and he found himself unable to think of anything... with the exception of how remarkably beautiful her brown eyes were as they blinked straight into his.

His eyes wandered from hers after a moment in an attempt to regain mental consciousness, but his vision landed on her hair, which he noticed was longer than she usually kept it - brushing against her cheeks, which were pink despite the pale tone she took on at his statement. These cheeks appeared quite kissable, but not so much as her lips, where they remained two dark red seas, parted and temptingly so. All of her was beautiful; though he rarely had the chance to examine this beauty without receiving a deadly glare, but on the rare occasion that he sneaked a peek, he was reminded of just how lovely she was.

Victoria was confused both at his confession and at the way he stared at her - the look in his eyes not at all venomous or hostile, nor teasing nor sarcastic. She felt his eyes on her lips, and her heart skipped a beat. What was he _thinking?_

Soon, however, she realized that she was thinking the same thought, as her eyes traveled downward from his and her breath grew shallow. The room was silent; half of her felt that this was a mistake, and the other half _knew_ that this was a mistake. Still, to save herself either from this killing urge or from the words that were not coming to her mind, her hand wandered up to settle on his jaw and she slowly leaned in his direction, making certain that he was in the same realm of thought as she.

She wasn't sure when along the way her eyes had closed, as she had initially resolved to leave them open in case of any trickery, but she didn't have to look to remember where her lips fit and how well they did so. Although the kiss was tentative on both parts, Victoria wasn't afraid to reaccustom herself to old territory - she dove right in, and found herself doing the majority of the work. He must have been stunned for a moment before his body kicked in and responded in kind. His hand rested behind her head, fingers slipping into her hair gently, and he remembered to inhale his lost breath.

After the longest possible moment, Victoria pulled back enough to open her eyes. She eyed him carefully, waiting for his reaction, or her own, or anything at all... His expression was unreadable and she felt self-conscious, wondering if that had been a welcome action.

She was mentally sorting through a thousand entirely-awkward responses when she felt a hand curve around her waist. Before she could say anything, Conrad pulled her into another kiss, deeper and more affectionate than the first. He played a larger part in this kiss, hand moving up her back to support her. She subconsciously rested her back against his hand, and he guided her down slowly, lying on her back. Victoria was surprised at how fervently he kissed her this time; her hand fell from his jaw and crept under his shirt, sliding up his back as he leaned over her...

Neither of the two were pleased to hear the front door open and a voice call out, "Mom?"

As soon as this sound registered in their minds, the two shot upward, separating instantly. Victoria was still pulling her hands out of his shirt when Charlotte Grayson appeared in the doorway of the living room, purse swinging in hand.

A look of horror crossed the girl's face as she stumbled upon her two parents - her mother discreetly tugging the neckline of her dress upward and her father straightening his shirt; both apparently unaware of the red smudges around their mouths and the flush of their faces.

Mortified, Victoria cleared her throat and managed to greet her daughter. "Charlotte."

Her daughter blinked wide eyes at them and swallowed. "I... I needed to talk to you about something, but it can wait, if you need to, um..."

"Actually," Conrad interrupted, standing up, "I have to make a phone call, so I will leave you ladies to it."

There is no more accurate way to describe his exit than to say that he fled the scene of the crime.

After watching him leave, Victoria turned to her daughter. "Come in, Charlotte. What did you need to talk about?"

Charlotte was hesitant to enter the room, but she eventually walked over to a chair and sat down. "It's about college..."

And Victoria spent the rest of the hour in an intense battle to stay focused on Charlotte, though her mind was filling with questions as to what had just occurred in Grayson Manor. She felt terrible to have only half-listened to her daughter, but she was sure it was Conrad's fault somehow. It was only later that she could truly consider the emotions behind this kiss, and how, exactly, she felt about it. The logical part of her mind determined that there had to be some angle behind it all, but the ridiculous part was perpetuating the butterflies in her stomach as she stared into her vanity with a napkin in hand, repairing her lipstick and allowing her mind to re-explore the places it had ended up. All her sensible side could manage was to wonder _why_ he had said that he cared about her... and _why_ she had responded the way she did.

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CAUTION: **SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 FINALE** AHEAD!

_..._

_What the heck have those idiots done to my ship?! This is simply unacceptable! I'm still living and writing in denial._

_Haha, I just got messages with people asking where I've been and realized I went dark on you guys this week. I've been so busy preparing for this audition that I completely forgot I hadn't updated yet. No worries; Conrad's untimely end hasn't affected this story (although the sequel may be a little slower-coming while I deal with all this backlash of old Vivid feels). Somebody reviewed and mentioned Victoria should have been injured in last chapter's storm - which made me laugh, because that was my second draft before I realized it wasn't working and changed my mind. I have something intense coming up soon, though, and I wanted to build up to that. Have you noticed any foreshadowing yet?_

_Thanks for reviewing, following, and favoriting! You guys are the best ever, so I'm just gonna leave this here and hope you guys enjoy. Let me know what you think!_

_And yes. They just kissed. Twice._


	9. Drink

**You Never Gave Me a** **Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**9) Only One Drink and an Open Bedroom Door**

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It had been three hours since she'd retired that evening, and as her alarm clock approached 4:00 A.M., it had become apparent that sleep was a privilege Victoria had lost. She hadn't slept a wink in nearly a week, to the point that she was beginning to struggle for mental awareness during the day. Tonight it was clear that she would not turn the corner yet.

She knew what had brought on this insomnia, of course; she had encountered such a struggle multiple times in that year alone. It was merely a physical reaction to a stress, or so had a doctor once told her long ago. Each body formulates its own response - its coping mechanism to unfamiliar surroundings or feelings. Her body had the unfortunate habit of simply working overtime. It certainly wasn't a complete physical transformation; her appetite usually remained healthy, and her emotions managed to continue cloaking themselves. It was when day turned to night that any idea of rest escaped her and left only anxious thoughts and exhaustion.

Victoria had grown so accustomed to these spells of insomnia that she had developed methods to work around these instances, if only for a short time. When the cases lingered, a few days turning into a week or more, her body began to feel the toll taken. Stifled emotions would begin blaring in her ears, causing her to act irrationally - the last time this loss of sleep had taken influence in her decisions, she had woken from her first rest in weeks to recall that, in her haze, she had allowed Conrad to _move into_ Grayson Manor.

Now, in consequence for her actions, she could almost hear his deep breathing from across the hall; while she could not keep her eyes closed, she instead stared up at the ceiling and listened for the sound of his mere presence in the house. She wasn't entirely sure she could actually _hear_ him, but her mind could well enough replicate the sound after years of sleeping in the same bed with the man. The thought of how peacefully he slept, night after night without fail, was calming - therapeutic, even, to only imagine the noise emanating from the half-empty bed beside her. If he had actually been lying with her, she might have fallen asleep hours ago...

Ironically, he also happened to be the reason she wasn't able to find rest that week. Surely he was unaware that his little comment from the other day was troubling enough to send her into panic mode; she still couldn't believe he had dared to say such a thing. Where did he get off telling her he _cared_ about her, when she was neither sure of the honesty behind this statement nor prepared for it to be true? And to follow up with a _kiss_, of all things, was just icing on the poisonous cake! It was as if he was intentionally toying with her emotions lately - and suddenly, he had taken it just a tad too far. He was despicable to play these mind-games with her when she had been kind enough to allow him into her _home_.

A small corner of her overactive imagination did like to picture a world wherein Conrad could have meant what he said - a universe similar to that of the earlier days of their marriage, when he looked at her as if she was precious and held her as if she was the air he breathed and she felt... truly and utterly loved. If there was any truth to his claim, she was left to ask herself if _she_ cared, and if she cared...

_This is a mess_, Victoria complained silently. She would never sleep at this rate; and one more step toward a mental breakdown might prove to be her last. The only hope she still reserved was in alcohol, and this hope was not much, in the knowledge that she could not drink enough to knock her off her feet lest she wake up in four hours to Conrad's alarm clock, sporting a major hangover and no recollection of how she could have wound up in her husband's _bed_.

Victoria threw off the covers, ignoring her better sense, and rose from her bed. _Just one drink_, she promised herself. _Perhaps it will settle my mind a little._

Without stumbling through the darkness for her robe, she slipped out of her bedroom in her nightgown and tiptoed down the hall, toward the stairs. Down she went, bare feet padding along the cold wooden floors, while her skin rose in goosebumps. She was truly looking forward to the warm buzz of alcohol by the time she reached the foot of the stairs. Luckily, she knew that Conrad hid a particularly-strong beverage under his desk, so she crept into his study in hopes of raiding his stash without waking him.

The room was oddly relaxed at night - the very _walls_ usually seemed on edge, what with the burdensome weight of the secrets they'd kept over the years. This was one of the few rooms in which Victoria felt like an honest version of herself, and tonight, this sentiment was absolutely necessary in her state of deep contemplation. After retrieving something heavy enough to drown her thoughts, she let out an exhausted sigh and collapsed into Conrad's chair. Suddenly, she was assaulted with his familiar scent - a jarring memory of sitting in his lap and resting her head against the smooth back of the chair - feeling phantom kisses on her neck and hearing him whisper whatever lies he had been feeding her those days - and she swallowed, hand stiffening around her glass. She drank the liquid all at once, allowing it to burn its way down her throat, and hardly hesitated to pour herself a second glass. This room always managed to get her drinking more than she should have; that was why she came here.

Trying to avoid the taxing introspection, she allowed her eyes to wander aimlessly about the room, taking note of every tiny thing and appreciating anything she had managed to overlook in her many years at Grayson Manor. The first thing to come to her notice was the mess on the desktop, an uncharacteristically-clumsy organization for the orderly Mr. Grayson. She leaned her elbows against his desk the way her mother had always hated, since no one was watching, and resorted to snooping through Conrad's small clutter of letters and papers.

Victoria was at first intensely bored by his collection of bills and forms, but she did find a few diamonds amidst the roughest of roughs. Some personal notes-to-self, letters to business partners, and receipts were surprisingly more engaging than others - including, buried beneath a million envelopes in his desk drawer, a recent receipt for twelve roses that _Daniel_ had claimed to have bought her. The second drawer was full of files, none of which held any significance save for one folder marked "Divorce" with a line drawn through it. _Wishful thinking,_ she observed silently, eyebrow raised. He was always one to exaggerate small flickers of hope into wildfire reformation, but Victoria wasn't so certain they were anywhere _near_ putting the idea of divorce out of mind as well as sight... although...

Remembering that she wasn't supposed to think about him, she shut the drawer and returned to the top of the desk, sorting through the rest of the clutter. She hadn't meant to start _cleaning_, but she had nearly organized his entire desk with the fuel of anxiety and sleeplessness. All that remained were scattered sticky-notes, writing utensils, and a stack of the latest death threats through which Victoria was in no state of mind or emotion to attempt to sort. She was nearly finished peeling away a million yellow notes when she looked up at the sound of footsteps.

Conrad appeared in the doorway not a moment later, sleep and confusion sharing a blue bed in his eye. When he found her, he seemed amused. "I see I've been beaten to the flask," he remarked teasingly, referring to the drained glass hanging lazily in her hand. She blinked up at him, swallowing. He was the _last_ person she wanted to see that night.

"I'm sorry," she feigned an apologetic frown, leaning back in his chair. "If I've caught you sneaking out, I can pretend I didn't see anything. Though I likely won't remember much of this in the morning," she lamented, pressing her fingers to her forehead.

He stepped further into the room, eyes catching on the half-empty bottle, and raised his eyebrows. "Or in five minutes," he added, examining her. "How much have you been drinking?"

Victoria was surprised at his question, glancing at the bottle. It was, indeed, slightly lower than it had been when she found it... perhaps more. Had she really drunk that much in her absentmindedness? "It wasn't _full_," she pointed out without looking at him, blinking tired eyes downward. "Maybe I'll actually get some sleep tonight."

He picked up a glass and poured something for himself, though his eyes remained on her. "I didn't realize my presence in the Manor would cost you this much peace of mind."

She snorted. "I hope you don't think I'm losing any sleep over _you_." Reaching for the bottle, she continued, "I've had insomnia so long... it has become a personality trait."

Conrad removed the bottle from her hands before she could pour more - this irritated her, since she knew she couldn't have had more than a few glasses - and replied smartly, "You used to sleep fairly well, if memory suits."

Victoria grimaced, reminded of how well she used to sleep with him and unsure of what emotion the memory incited in her. _Longing, maybe_. _What does it matter?_

Feeling she ought to provide a reason for her exhaustion _other_ than his implication, she glanced subtly downward, toward the stack of threats. "That was when I felt safe in my own house," she reminded him.

He seemed bothered at her fake worry and leaned against the desk in contemplation. "I'll guard the castle, if that's what's keeping you up." The look in his eyes told her that he knew better.

She inhaled, mind too weak to formulate a follow-up lie, and her delirium caused her to come out with the truth. "Why did you say what you said, Conrad?" she asked eventually, meeting his eyes. He seemed surprised at her forthrightness.

He blinked her down, a certain softness appearing in his eyes, and he replied quietly, "It wasn't a lie or a scheme, Victoria. I've said it before," he recalled, swallowing his drink at once.

Sighing, she then asked, "But _why?_"

This question seemed to catch him off-guard; he fought a smile. "Do I need a reason?"

"I'd like one, _yes_," she decided, leaning on the desk again, quite uncharacteristically. Rubbing her eyes, she trailed off sleepily, saying whatever came to mind before she caught herself. "Maybe then I could start making sense of this age we're in, with Daniel's escape to Paris, Charlotte's addiction, your personality transplant, and our new assassin penpals..." Sleep battling her closed eyes, she covered her face and exhaled. She had forgotten what she was asking.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder and a kiss on her head - and thank goodness her face was hidden, because she had lazily allowed a smile to cross her face for a moment. "I'm going to bed," he remarked over her head in a low, soothing voice that rumbled in her ears. She nearly reached a hand out for him as she heard him walk away; nearly asked him to stay. One more word might have put her to some much-needed rest...

"There's room for two, if you want some real sleep."

Her heart stopped when she heard this, wondering if he had somehow heard her thoughts. She froze, looking up at him slowly, determined to keep her head and decline this suddenly-tempting offer. Mustering up some stupidly-rude reply, she muttered, "You're barking up the wrong tree if you think I would get into bed with you."

This remark seemed to bother him, a disappointed look on his face. He swallowed his hurt pride and instead said softly, "Goodnight, Victoria."

She urged her mouth to speak up and amend her statement, but all she could manage was to nod before he turned and, as he had said, went to bed.

The moment his bedroom door closed, she felt exponentially sleepier and somewhat lonely. She reached for her confiscated bottle, deciding she wasn't yet drunk enough, when she realized he had taken it from her. Either his plan was to drink himself to death with it, or to keep _her_ from doing so...

_"Because I care about you!"_ she could hear him say, his voice so clear and familiar. She had replayed the scenario in her head every night since, keeping herself awake; each time thinking back to instances which could serve as evidence to his claim. Tonight seemed to be one of these - he _had_ been asleep after all, and could have remained so. Instead, he came downstairs to investigate, had one drink, and prevented her from having too many more.

And even under the influence of somewhere between a glass and half of a bottle, she was thinking about the one thing she didn't want to think about. Her mind ached with every mental word, but his voice simply wouldn't _shut up_. _Because I care. Because he cares. Because he cares about me. _ It pounded in her head, painful but almost pleasant...

After another ten minutes of inwardly repeating the phrase like a maniac, Victoria realized that she was nearly certifiable. She was no longer a mere insomniac. She was _losing her mind._

_Is that a good enough reason to sleep with him?_

This one tiny question floated through her mind, and that was enough. She stood up quietly and left the room, though her body attempted to pull her back to the doorway - she crossed the room and climbed the stairs, though her legs wavered on every other step - and she pushed herself down the hall as if she'd fall asleep within the minute. The bedroom door was left cracked open, and a small voice telling her to stop at there, but she didn't listen. She didn't knock, or even ask to enter; she slipped into the dark room silently and listened for a voice.

There had been the sound of breathing just a moment ago, but the room became silent as he realized she was here. He was likely with questions, but Victoria said nothing to explain herself. She approached the bed, picking a side quickly, and tentatively stepped up to the bed.

He lay in the bed, and looked up at her. "Coming to bed, dear?" he asked jokingly, voice only a whisper.

Victoria slipped into the bed slowly, managing to find her space, and glanced over at him. "Don't read too much into this." Contradictory to her words, she moved closer to his side, feeling a calming warmth spreading through the bed.

Conrad smiled when he felt her back lying against him; he tried to remain still in fear of scaring her away. But Victoria wasn't as easily intimidated by his care now, and after a moment of silence, he ventured to slip an arm around her. She might have resisted, were her wits about her, but she relaxed into his embrace - he drew her in closer, amazed at how close she was finally allowing him to get. He wanted to lean over, to kiss her somewhere, but he was afraid to push it, so he stopped there.

"Sweet dreams," he wished her before the room was once again quiet, confined to the sound of simple breathing.

Victoria, although already feeling herself slipping into a long-awaited rest, did have to wonder why he was being so sincere and not-at-all teasing about this circumstance. Surely he hadn't _really_ offered his bed for her sake. He had to be playing some angle with her.

_Unless there is no angle,_ she wondered inwardly, as her thoughts became disjointed under heavy eyelids. If she had been in her conscious mind, she would have rejected this question, but she wasn't.

_Unless he really does __**care**__._

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_Thanks so very much for reading! Make sure to follow/favorite, or leave a review to let me know what you think!_

_Ackadackadack! ConVict in bed... ;) So Victoria's whole exhausted existence throughout this fanfiction wasn't for nothing. I knew from the beginning that Victoria didn't seem like a peaceful sleeper, and who better than Conrad to remedy that? Luckily, beds can serve multiple purposes, and they'll figure that out eventually. We've still got a couple of chapters left, and a lot can happen in a couple of chapters._

_So... I had to completely restart the sequel, so I'm back on the second chapter. This story took me about two weeks - the sequel should take about three, since I'm working on my novel simultaneously. I have a question for you guys! __I have a lot of fics in "storage", and two of them are finally post-ready: a **ConVict birthday fanfic** and a **Victoria-centric mental hospital fanfiction** following the events of the finale. Would anybody be interested in reading either of those? If there's any interest, I'll prep them for posting and use them to fill the gap between this and the sequel. Now stop reading my crappy author''s notes and go watch that new Captain America movie if you haven't already, because I just did and it was amazing._


	10. End

**You Never Gave Me a Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**10) End of an Era and Experiencing Extraordinary Emotions**

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Victoria was particularly scattered that morning as she fled from one room to the next, bounding left to right in the thick of Grayson Manor. Having slept much too well the previous night, and far too _long_, she had been left with less than an hour to dress and prepare for her daughter's birthday party - this wouldn't have been extremely difficult to manage, if it weren't for her sudden recollection of how early she would need to leave if she was to stop by the bakery to pick up the cake, since the man she had sent to collect it was stuck in traffic, heading the _wrong way..._ She could hardly collect her thoughts as she was continuously reminded of countless other things she was supposed to have handled for Charlotte. All she could offer herself as consolation was hope that Daniel had pulled his own weight and relief that she wasn't attempting to face the day without the appropriate amount of rest.

Though the David Clarke Fan Club threats, as well as Conrad's bewildering kindness and care, still fired at her from all sides, she was no longer buckling under the pressure, and for one reason alone: her new sleeping arrangements. Crazy as it might have been, her ludicrous idea that sharing a bed with Conrad would provide her with _peace_ turned out to be more accurate than she had ever anticipated. She slept more deeply than she had in years, and, being in dire need of her common sense and physical stamina, she had accidentally formed a habit of slipping into his bed at night; ever since, she had been blessed with the beautiful gift of rest. This was something she cherished too much to ruin by letting her pride or sensibility intervene, so she refused to allow room for thought as she continued this unhealthy streak - under the self-assurance that she could always return to her own bed when her sleep pattern returned to a normal state. The truthfulness behind this thought was ambiguous, but it satisfied any uneasiness, so she used it as an excuse to indulge in a little rest... and perhaps, to wake up in warm arms rather than cold sheets...

Unfortunately, these silent nights had a tendency to get the best of the Graysons, as they both now slept so soundly that they were beginning to sleep _in_. This morning was the worst case of all, and the energy in the house ramped up significantly while both husband and wife rushed to prepare for their daughter's party.

"Conrad?" Victoria called out as she sped down the stairs, nearly falling when her heel just missed the last two steps and skidded down to the wood floor. She managed to grip the railing in time and balance herself, just before taking off toward the living room; she did not find her husband within.

"Yes?" she heard him call from the study, where she was now headed at the speed of light.

Marching through the doorway, her eyes didn't once find his as she scanned the room quickly. "Have you seen the shoes I wore yesterday?" she asked urgently, now walking into the room in search of aforementioned shoes.

Conrad, as per her expectations, was of very little use in this situation, with a small shake of his head and a muttered, "You really ought to keep them in your room." His eyes were locked on the mail he was sorting - as if they had time for such trifle tasks! Victoria groaned inwardly.

"I appreciate your suggestion," she remarked sarcastically, already losing her insignificant amount of affinity toward him at such an early hour; "but that doesn't change the situation. Would it _pain_ you..." She stopped, spotting a black heel peeking out from underneath his desk. "Never mind. I found them."

He hummed in reply. "Glad to have helped."

Victoria raised an eyebrow at his absentminded response; she watched him periodically as she picked up her shoes and sat down on the edge of his desk. "You must have found something interesting," she noted, eyes following his to whatever letter he was reading, then trailing back to his face. His expression was unreadable, but if she were to blindly guess, he seemed somewhat troubled. She just didn't know what sort of bill or invitation could have bothered him so.

"What time does Charlotte's party start?" he asked quietly without looking up.

Victoria chuckled. "For her, in half an hour. For _us_, five minutes ago." With that, she resumed putting on her shoes.

"I suppose it's too late to postpone it, then."

She blinked back at him, surprised. "Do you have somewhere else to be?" Glancing at the letter he held, she asked, "What is that?"

He finally met her eyes, and she felt her stomach drop in an instant. Suddenly, she was afraid to know what he was talking about.

Still, she wasn't scared enough to satisfy her own worrisome curiosity, so she plucked the letter from his hands and turned it around for examination. It didn't appear threatening at first, but it was certainly a threat - just another in the series of "Long Live David Clarke," yet this particular message was bothersome. She could hardly read the crooked handwriting, but she made out enough to understand that this was a direct and precise threatening of their lives - moreover, that they would soon _end_. Some fairly graphic adjectives were used; there was no particular indication of when and where, but the letter was postmarked on the present date. Victoria swallowed.

"We'll double up security," she mumbled dryly, her voice sounding strangely calm though she knew her eyes screamed with a million different shades of fear. Not for herself, necessarily, but for the fact that this warning was following her into a party with her _children_ present, as well as tons of other innocent people. A part of her didn't truly credit these threats nor wish to allow them to dictate her actions, but its louder counterpart was telling her to stay home. Her better sense attempted to stifle this thought. "We can move the party indoors, if you think we should."

"I think we shouldn't _go_," he stated bluntly, standing up from his chair. "I don't know what to expect from these people, but it's dangerous for everyone if we draw attention to ourselves."

Victoria stood as well, following him in his pacing walk away from the desk. "Your plan is to allow these teenaged miscreants to interfere with our child's birthday and our _lives? _ Brilliant." Rolling her eyes, she continued toward the door. "We're already late..."

He set a hand on her shoulder, causing her to turn around. His expression was stern and set. "It's not safe, Victoria," he stated simply, leaving very little wiggle room.

"They haven't attempted anything in months," she argued. "If we continue to show them that we're afraid, they'll keep playing these games, and that will only cost _us_." Reminded of her shoes, she turned back into the room and moved to retrieve them.

"And if they _are_ planning something?" he challenged her as he followed her steps. "They appear to be looking for blood this time."

She huffed, standing up straight. "You sound like a child, Conrad." He averted his eyes from hers. "We have to handle these threats like adults, or we'll keep losing to these..."

Her voice trailed off as she watched his eyes; they stared over her shoulder distantly, as if lost in thought or absent in mind altogether. "Losing to these _children_," she finished, blinking at him. "Conrad?"

He didn't appear to hear her.

"Are you ignoring me, now?" she asked dangerously, eyebrows raised. "What is the matter with you?"

She didn't know, nor could she have possibly realized, that Conrad was peering out the window at the sight of motion in the distance. He took a moment of examination before realizing that they were not alone.

Victoria had been ready to shout at him, growing tired of his avoidance techniques, but he interrupted her thought process by setting his hand on her elbow lightly. She glanced down at his hand and opened her mouth to declare him completely frightening, but she was out of breath by the time her mind returned to the thought - too distracted by his sudden weight thrust upon her, pushing her down in a sharp moment. Instinctively, she attempted to force him away, but he brought her to the ground a mere instant before the room was pierced with what was, without question, the sound of a gunshot.

The first bullet flew into the room before Victoria had even realized what was happening, but the second and third were immediately recognized with a shriek that sounded as if it had come from a young girl rather than a grown woman. She didn't see what was happening - her eyes shut the moment she hit the ground, which proved beneficially-protective at the sound and feel of the window shattering, every tiny piece flying into the room. There might have been a few more gunshots afterward, but she had been in shock and too dazed to have counted. The unexpected shooting had temporarily numbed her, and she didn't at first move from her lying position. She just inhaled and exhaled under the weight of the man atop her, unsure of what to do, if to do anything at all.

The room was silent for a small eternity.

"I don't hear anyone," she eventually spoke up, hoping to reacquire his attention. He didn't move at first - seemingly frozen in place. "You can get up now," she added quietly.

Victoria was confused to hear him mutter a few curses as he rolled away from her. She had expected him to speak up by now, but all he offered to the silence were heavy breaths as he turned slowly onto his back. Her mouth opened to remind him that he was rolling on a floor littered with broken glass, but the words caught in the back of her throat as she noticed the way he clutched his side tightly. It was only a few seconds later that she saw blood seeping out around his hands... and when he removed his hands, it became clear that this was no glass cut.

Her heart stopped at the sight of the hole in his side, coming to the realization that one bullet had not, in fact, missed its mark. _No..._

She attempted to say something - though the only thing running through her mind were some unhelpful half-sentences - but he beat her to the punch. "Would you make a call for me?" he asked in dark humor, glancing upward at her. Victoria swallowed, fearing his resigned tone of voice; she was at first too flustered to move, but she managed to reach up and pull the phone off the desk.

Her thoughts were racing as her eyes flicked between the phone in her hands and the man at her side; she forced her hands to dial the phone for the sake of his life, even though they had once vowed to keep the police out of this conflict.

After dialing, there was a moment of silence on the line. While she waited, she scooted closer to Conrad and set a hand on his shoulder as he attempted to sit up. "Lie down," Victoria ordered quietly, guiding him back down to the ground. He allowed her to pull him closer beneath the window, as a precaution in case their shooter remained outside.

_"911 - What's your emergency?"_

"My husband's been shot..."

While Victoria began to sweat her way through a stressful phone call, Conrad's shock was slowly starting to fade away. At first, he was preoccupied with the pain shooting up and down his side; thick, uncomfortably-warm blood seeping through his jacket; freezing air blowing into a wide hole that left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. His mind shut off, with the only remains of mental consciousness being his knee-jerk reactions to every wave of pain and his spotty attention to the words coming out of Victoria's mouth - mostly focusing on the way her lips moved, trembled, stuttered over simple phrases. In the absence of thought, he noticed the small things: the way her hands shook on his chest nervously; the pale tint her face donned as she listened to the operator's voice; the wideness and fear and uncertainty in her eyes as they bounced between the phone and the window and him, and him again, and him... Seeing her so frightened and confused intensified the pain throughout his body, and he began to fight himself, inhaling hard breaths in an attempt to force life back into his system. His mind screamed at him to keep thinking, breathing; his heart raced and stalled, raced and stalled...

Reality was setting in for both of them as Victoria was reassured by the operator that help was being sent; this simple promise wasn't enough to settle her panic as she glanced down every other moment to find a wilder look in her husband's eyes. She felt the overwhelming need to do _something_ to fix this: "What do I need to do?" she asked the operator, staring down at his wound as it rose and fell in panting breaths.

_"Is there anything you can use to staunch the bleeding?"_ the operator said into her ear.

Victoria considered the question as she looked around the room, at first finding nothing suitable for the task; nothing, that is, until her eyes caught on the trail of her new dress. She immediately and without thought gathered up her long skirt, bunched it up, and pressed it to his wound. Conrad jerked at the contact, head falling to the side as the pain of the gunshot grew exponentially worse in an instant. Victoria swallowed her surprise when his head landed in her lap, and it remained there. She knew his pain must have been agonizing if he didn't immediately pull away at the contact; as must have been her concern for him if she allowed him to stay.

There wasn't much left in the call, except for a final order that Victoria's main task should be to keep him calm and conscious. She wasn't exactly sure how to accomplish this, since he appeared to be nearly out of it already, but she set the phone down and swore to herself that she would not end this day with his life on her hands. Though Grayson Manor was far from the nearest hospital, she could only hope the ambulance would arrive soon enough to save him; and until it did, she would do her best to preserve his life.

Feeling his eyes staring up at her, she looked down with a sharp breath and forced a relaxed smile. "The ambulance is on its way," she informed him quietly, watching his responding expression. He inhaled shallowly and shifted his weight. Victoria swallowed. "Just try to relax for now..."

Conrad wasn't doing too well at this, however. His muscles tensed and he gritted his teeth against the pain, traveling through his abdomen like tiny daggers. He would hold his breath for a little while, before letting it go all at once; eventually, words came out. "I'm not ready to die," he muttered, acting as if he was about to sit upright. Victoria set a hand on his shoulder and guided him back down to the floor. "I need time... to fix things..."

Feeling her stomach turn at his words, she began to run her hand along his arm soothingly in an attempt to calm him down. "You still have time," she assured him through a nervous breath. "We're going to get you to the hospital, and they'll fix this."

This wasn't good enough for him. "I wasn't a good enough father to Daniel and Charlotte," he admitted, making Victoria uncomfortable. She opened her mouth to deny it, but he kept on. "I've always thought there would be a time to apologize... for everything..."

"Conrad, you need to calm down," Victoria stopped him, glancing down as blood began to soak through her skirt rapidly. He was going to send himself to his own grave at this rate.

"Get Charlotte on the phone," he requested weakly, turning to look at the phone. "I can't wait any longer. I have to tell her-"

"Oh, Conrad, shut up! You aren't going to die!" she snapped, cutting him off. He froze at her outburst, silent - she hadn't meant to shout at him, but he was scaring her and panicking himself. She was already terrified of her own incapability to help him relax, feeling like some kind of unfeeling, inhuman person. Even now, she was barking at her dying husband. How was she supposed to keep him alive?

But she was willing to give it another try - this time considering how she would treat one of her children in the same situation. Inhaling, she moved her hand to his forehead and tentatively began to run her fingers through his hair. "You aren't going to die," she echoed quietly, working to remain gentle though anxiety attacked her inwardly. "I'm not going to let you die. Trust me."

Seeming to relax somewhat, he loosened his muscles, and even offered a small smile. "That's some request," Conrad remarked sarcastically as he blinked up at her. Victoria smiled sadly.

"It's time to bring the police into this," she mumbled after a moment, tangling her fingers in his hair absentmindedly. "I've had enough of this torture."

He closed his eyes sleepily and muttered in reply, "So have I."

They were quiet for some time, Victoria playing with his hair and Conrad's head resting calmly in her lap. After a minute of comfortable silence, she noticed that he seemed to be drifting and whispered, "Hey." He opened his eyes lazily, looking up at her. "Stay awake, okay? Watch me."

And he did, though it was a battle to keep his eyes open with fatigue crawling in and her soothing hands coaxing a tempting hint of sleepiness into his body. His vision clung to her, as did his thoughts, in a fierce attempt to stay thinking and watching and breathing. He studied her face - eyes, lips, cheeks, and everything beside and between. He noted how lovely her lips were, and how deep her eyes were, and how the light of the window shone down behind her and... and made her look so positively radiant, if not angelic. Her eyes were shiny now, but he pretended not to notice the tears, because she wouldn't have wanted him to notice. She always had to keep her emotions inside, though he didn't know _why_. She was so strangely, beautifully curious to him. In all their years of marriage, it was as if he still barely knew her...

But he wanted to know her, of course. So _much_ did he want to see her vulnerabilities, and her love. He wanted to be the one to uncover and put to rest her every fear, her vices, her demons. Why couldn't he be the one?

Whatever the reason, he felt an urge, a need to make known to her how much he felt these things. If he was truly to die today, in her arms or otherwise, he would rather it be knowing that she had seen his heart, and known that it was hers to keep.

So, in the knowledge that it would most likely scare her away, and in the fear that he would find no peace without saying the words, he took a breath and looked directly into her eyes. "I love you," he announced, without shame or fear or doubt, because it was true. It may have been strange to say, or to hear from himself, but it was true.

This surprising honesty had clearly struck Victoria, as she had adopted her own state of shock while she stared down at him. Her mind stopped as she registered the words, and her emotions made up for the lack of thought by clashing and confusing her. At first, she thought he was lying, or joking, or teasing; and then, she considered his mental health; and then, she became angry. Here she was, out of her comfort zone and attempting to _help_ him, and he decided to say he _loved_ her? He wasn't supposed to _do_ that. He _never_ did that anymore.

Her heart was racing and she felt her face heat up in embarrassment as she wondered how to react to something like that. Was she supposed to thank him? Argue with him? Was she expected to respond in kind?

Did she even love him back?

She did feel _something_ for him - whether it be longing or loving or anything alike, she wasn't sure. It simply felt painful, like emotional torture or heartbreak that wasn't quite as sad. The feeling reminded her of something she'd felt for him in the past - the early days of their relationship, when the emotions had been real. What immediately came to mind was their honeymoon: visiting the beach every day, swimming and picnicking and simply lying together, basking in the sun; dining in the finest restaurants and sharing desserts in tight little corner booths; being carried into the hotel room and waking up the next morning after a nice long sleep, tangled bare in silk sheets with her head on his chest as the sun peeked through the large window; standing wrapped in the blankets with his arms around her and his head on her shoulder as they watched the sun rise and the colors fade and the oceans roar; and being totally, completely in love. All of this came before the lies and the secrets, when she shut him out and he returned the favor. Now, they were just two people living under the same roof...

Until recently, when he had on some whim decided to attempt to repair their damaged relationship. She hadn't been so receptive at first, although he had managed to make her question her feelings for him now and again; but now that she was losing him, she began to wish she hadn't continued to shut him out. Perhaps she would have found the time to understand her emotions before now, in a moment that required instant and total honesty. Perhaps she would have realized long ago that she still wanted him, now more than ever.

"Conrad," she spoke up after her inexplicable silence, feeling her stomach turn as she realized what she was about to say. "I-"

"Don't feel like you have to say anything," Conrad stopped her breathlessly, averting his eyes from hers. "I just needed you to know how I felt, in case-"

"I love you," she admitted before she lost her nerve, "too."

There was overwhelming silence after the words were said - Victoria making herself busy by holding her breath and looking away bashfully, while the gears in Conrad's head began to turn and the realization of her words hit him a few times. When he looked up at her, he was confused to see her look so uncomfortable, as if the words had brought her actual physical pain - but although they had flustered her, they were somewhat peaceful in their aftermath. Her stomach relaxed and her mind slowed down, and she felt an overwhelming sense of relief. She had said it, and it was okay. No matter how he would react, it was okay for her, and that was enough.

Conrad didn't know how to respond to such an extraordinary occurrence. He wanted to question her statement - just to hear her say it a few more times - but he didn't want to push her away. Right now, he wanted her exactly where she was, exactly the way she was.

So he didn't say anything. He simply lay still and offered a small smile, while an unabashed grin attempted to take its place for a long while. It wasn't every day he heard anything like that from Victoria, and it had been forever since he had expected her to actually mean it. Now, even in his mortal position, he felt insanely, stupidly-happy.

Meanwhile, the silence was just an amplifier to Victoria's anxious thoughts. In the lack of conversation, she was forced to acknowledge the blood soaking through her skirt and onto her hand. She had readjusted the long garment seemingly a thousand times, but she was running out of dry fabric - every inch of the skirt, from thigh-high to her ankles, was drenched in the liquid, and if she had taken the time to think about it, she certainly would have become sick. Instead of illness, the only sentiment that came from this overwhelming amount of blood and lack of anything to be done was hopelessness, and sadness. Victoria could see the losing battle he was fighting, from his pale skin to his ragged breath; her eyes began to fill with tears against her will or judgment. She was going to lose him.

Conrad must have sensed her angst; he reached out and set his hand on hers, drawing it away from the wound. Her eyes lit up, and she looked back at him, accidentally blinking and allowing a tear to escape her hold. When she saw the look he gave her, as if he was sorry for something - although it was ridiculous for _him_ to be sorry when this was really her fault - she felt an intense pull toward him, and, in her desperation, she gave in. She leaned down and kissed him, hesitantly but willingly. He responded as if he had been waiting for this already; his free hand moved up behind her head to hold her there, though he was gentle enough to allow her to pull away if she would. They allowed their lips to wander for the shortest and longest time, until she eventually broke the kiss, evoking from him a sigh of contentment rather than disappointment. She then moved upward to kiss his forehead, and he closed his eyes when she stayed there, a gentle breath sweeping over both of them.

Victoria didn't pull away for a few minutes, leaving a handful of light kisses on his skin, until the recognizable sound of sirens pierced the air. They both looked up, surprised and relieved to realize that an ambulance was on its way, alarming the world of its presence in the distance. She exhaled in relief. _They're here._

Looking back to him, she saw the surprise in his eyes, and she opened her mouth to speak - but no words came, and it was all right that way. She didn't bother herself with trying to say anything, because the sirens spoke for her. _You're going to be okay,_ they seemed to say, echoing her own relieved thoughts.

_We're going to be okay._

* * *

_Was that good? Do we like?_

_AHGH! I had so much fun writing that chapter! I had been planning that since the beginning stages of the story months ago, and to finally post it is exhilarating! That was the point of the recurring "LLDC" threats__. I never quite determined who those people were - although I did have a few options. I guess they're whoever you want them to be._

_Anyway, we've still got an epilogue to go before this story is done. I really loved this idea to sum up the fact that Conrad was proving his love to Victoria by being selfless and patient with her, to the point that he **takes a bullet for her**. This was the only way I could finalize the story, and I'm satisfied with it. The next story, which is now completely planned-out with the first chapter written as of last night, will be centered around the after-effects of their confessions - I can already tell it's going to be a lot of fun. I'll have the summary posted at the end of the epilogue so you can get an idea and see if you want to read it. I will tease that there are more physical expressions of love in this sequel, although the story will be nothing beyond a light T-rating. There's a lot of secrecy regarding their new kind of relationship... and our intelligent Miss Thorne is quicker on the uptake than the rest of the Hamptons. Take that any way you want.  
_

_Please make sure to follow, favorite, or leave a review so I know if you loved it, hated it, or whatever. I love me some criticism, so press that button and gimme a piece of your mind. And lastly, I have a bitter message toward the death of one of my favorite characters..._

_**SPOILER ALERT for Revenge finale:**_

_Also, though this author's note is already long, I'd like to make an important note to the Revenge writers and fans of Conrad. In this chapter, which was posted long after Conrad Grayson's televised death, I had a choice. I could have jerked around everyone's emotions, aligned my story with the TV show, created an equally-intense ending, and washed my hands of ConVict by allowing this gunshot to kill Conrad Grayson. I had the opportunity to kill a character - it would have been easy, and I almost did... but I didn't. I saw a future and I elected to explore it._

_**Dear Revenge writers, I wish you had done the**_**_ same_.**


	11. Epilogue

**You Never Gave Me a Reason**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Revenge or its characters._

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**Epilogue) Waking Up and Wondering What Went Right**

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Normally, Conrad would be annoyed to wake up to the sound of British television. He was never such a fan of strong accents reading off flowery scripts of a post-war dramatization; but here and now, when he woke up at odd hours, in darkness or in light, his only comfort was to hear the faint English voices on the TV - when he heard them, he knew that Victoria was sitting at his side, and he felt safe.

Conrad had found that the pale walls of a hospital room didn't provide a man with the nicest of dreams; especially not one who had faced the morbid thought of death only days ago. At first panicking at his unfamiliar surroundings, his sole consolation upon waking from troubling nightmares, was to hear the TV and know that his wife was still awake in the bedside chair. Once he knew that he wasn't alone, he felt his heart settle down, and he tried not to look her way, or even think too much about her, lest it start speeding up again.

Of course, he could rarely keep himself from thinking about her - in fact, he wasn't sure she had left his thoughts since his first awakening. There were times when these thoughts would cause his heart to skip a beat, after which he would attempt to quiet them and surrender to sleep; but then, there were other times when she would be his only hope for relaxation. When he couldn't sleep, he'd recall the way she had looked at him in what they had thought to be his last moments; the softness of her voice as she whispered words he could only remember in dreams; her gentle touch through his hair and across his forehead; and he found peace enough to send him off into a light sleep.

After days of resting, haziness and heavy pain medication, he had barely held a decent conversation with Victoria - all his invalid self could manage was to hold her hand whenever she built up the courage to reach out, and send a weak smile her way every time she looked up from her book. There had been, of course, his first moment alone with her since the shooting - soon after his first waking when, if drugs hadn't affected his memory, she had apologized for something he couldn't understand and kissed him so quickly he had only realized it once it had ended. After that, and perhaps another occurrence he had yet to decide as reality rather than a dream, she had held his hand, delivered messages from the children, and otherwise ordered him to rest. He wouldn't have listened in any other situation, but he was both too exhausted to argue and somewhat pleasantly surprised at her concern for his wellbeing.

Thereafter, he had managed to rest, cooperate with the doctor, and hold back all his waiting conversation. Tonight, however, was too dark and restless a night to be so easily appeased. He had lain there for seemingly hours, staring at the wall, listening to the television - all the while knowing that Victoria was awake behind him. The temptation was too much to bear, so he rolled over to look at her.

Conrad had expected to find dark hair flowing over one shoulder, red lips pursed, deep eyes staring holes into the book in her hands – the way he always pictured her. Instead, he found a damp-haired woman with an unmade face, pink lips relaxed, and deep eyes hidden behind lids, all fluttering eyelashes and a hint of a smile on her eyebrows. Her head was bowed as if in prayer, and her hands were slack on her book; he was astounded at how beautiful she was when she slept.

He did wonder what had finally granted her sleep after so long. During his son's visit, Daniel had informed Conrad that Victoria had hardly slept since the shooting, and not at all since he had woken from his medically-induced coma. Although he wasn't sure how absolute Daniel's words had been, nor how reliable his own memory was, he had personally never caught her with closed eyes - not until now, that is.

And though he inexplicably craved her company, he couldn't bring himself to wake her from this precious sleep. So he settled for a silent gaze, hoping for another opportunity in the morning.

Conrad was actually baffled that she had remained at his bedside restlessly for almost a week. In the past, she had shown a special amount of concern during crises of health - as if it took a disaster to bring out a nurturing side that she usually reserved for kids. Her spur-of-the-moment care upon his shooting had been the topic of much rumination on his part, but the fact that she had kept up the work for days, with little sleep in between, brought one repetitive memory to mind; one which he could not stifle for even a moment.

_"I love you... too."_

Her voice was clear as if she was saying it now; he could hear her lip tremble, fumble over the last word quietly. He saw her face melt into a small smile, her eyes shining with sincerity before she averted them from his bashfully. Conrad had barely recognized the words then, and now, he was conflicted as to the reality of this happening. It seemed like something out of a dream, but the memory felt all too real, engaging every one of his senses. There was hardly any doubt left in his mind tonight, thinking of what she was taking out of herself simply to be with him when he needed her.

He was glad that she was asleep now, because he was sending a stupid smile her way. A year ago, she never would have been here beside him; she never would have said she _loved_ him, even if pressed. Conrad hadn't realized until tonight just how far they'd come, and how very much he preferred where they were to where they used to be. He may not have secured her heart completely - not just yet, but this small taste of genuine love was enough to remind himself that he _would_ steal her heart, no matter the cost.

But he left this thinking for the morning, and lay flat on the bed, though he was unable to completely erase the grin from his face. He simply wasn't used to this happiness; knowing that something was finally going _right._

* * *

_Okay, so I'm **super** sad that this is over! I think this is my favorite fanfiction I have **ever **written in 5-ish years of writing, and I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did! Even if you don't like to give reviews, I hope you'll at least leave one for this final chapter, just to let me know you read and liked the story! Thank you guys so much!**  
**_

_I'm in the middle of writing the sequel, most likely to be titled The Way I've Loved You after the line Conrad said in an episode. Since it won't be out for at least a week or two, if not more, I have a few other things to post. I'm going to post a poll on my page with a few fanfictions I could fix up and post, so check that out this week and vote for which one you'd most like to see during the gap. Again, look out for the sequel, and I hope you'll enjoy one of my other stories (if I ever manage to put one out there. It took me forever just to start posting this one!_

**Major thank-you's to:**_**Leryn** (my very first reviewer, my heart belongs to you!), **RevengeADDICT** (I adore your input and your stories so stay awesome please), **Island Queen**, **Allie**, **HeroineGauddess**, **Linaluu** (I love to say your username out loud haha), **revengefan** (__I'm never called "brilliant" so I got really excited, thank you!)_, **lgraven**, **xinfinityxinfinityx**, **I'm-Not-Your-Average-Monster **(Funny name and I like the way you think!), **wondergirl247** (Quit reading my crap and update Glassheart!), **Mel**, and every anonymous reviewer! You guys are the best and I hope you remain awesome!

_Thank you all so much, and I hope you'll read some of my other stories if they ever see the light of day._

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**In loving memory of Conrad Grayson.**


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